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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 


RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR 


JjWlLMUiUk 


ON  THE   PLANTATION 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR. 


UNCLE  REMUS :  His  Songs  and  His 
Sayings.  The  Folk-Lore  of  the  Old 
Plantation.  With  Illustrations  by  F.  S. 
Church  and  J.  H.  Moser,  of  Georgia. 
i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  volume  is  a  most  readable  one,  whether  it 
be  regarded  as  a  humorous  book  merely,  or  as  a  con- 
tribution to  the  literature  of  folk-lore." — New  York 
World. 

"  A  thoroughly  amusing  book,  and  much  the  best 
humorous  compilation  that  has  been  put  before  the 
American  public  for  many  a  day." — Philadelphia 
Telegraph. 

"  The  idea  of  preserving  and  publishing  these  le- 
gends in  the  form  in  which  the  old  plantation  negroes 
actually  tell  them,  is  altogether  one  of  the  happiest 
literary  conceptions  of  the  day.  And  very  admirably 
is  the  work  done." — London  Spectator. 

"  Mr.  Harris's  book  may  be  looked  on  in  a  double 
light  —  either  as  a  pleasant  volume  recounting  the 
stories  told  by  a  typical  old  colored  man  to  a  child,  or 
as  a  valuable  contribution  to  our  somewhat  meager 
folk-lore.  To  Northern  readers  the  story  of  Brer 
(brother,  brudder)  Rabbit  may  be  novel.  To  those 
familiar  with  plantation  life,  who  have  listened  to 
these  quaint  old  stories,  who  have  still  tender  remi- 
niscences of  some  good  old  mauma  who  told  these 
wondrous  adventures  to  them  when  they  were  chil- 
dren, Brer  Rabbit,  the  Tar  Baby,  and  Brer  Fox  come 
back  again  with  all  the  past  pleasures  of  younger 
days." — New  York  Titnes. 

'"  Uncle  Remus's  sayings  on  current  happenings 
are  very  shrewd  and  bright,  and  the  plantation  and 
revival  songs  are  choice  specimens  of  their  sort." — 
Boston  Journal. 


New  York-  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


\  \         -A 


http://www.archive.org/details/6hplantationstorharr 


'U^!/^' 


ON  THE  PLANTATION 


A  STORY  OF  A   GEORGIA   BOY'S  ADVENTURES 
DURING   THE   WAR 


BY 


JOEL  CHANDLER   HARRIS 

AUTHOR   OF   UNCLE   REMUS 


iVITH   TWENTY-THREE  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  E.    W.   KEMBLE 


NEW    YORK 

D.     APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1892 


Copyright,  1892, 
By  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed 

AT  THE    ApPLETON    PrESS,  U.  S.  A. 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

JOSEPH   ADDISON    TURNER 

LAWYER,    EDITOR,    SCHOLAR,    PLANTER,    AND    PHILANTHROPIST 

THIS   MIXTURE   OF    FACT   AND    FICTION 

IS    INSCRIBED 


602941 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 


Some  of  my  friends  who  have  read  in  serial 
form  the  chronicles  that  follow  profess  to  find 
in  them  something-  more  than  an  autobiograph- 
ical touch.  Be  it  so.  It  would  indeed  be  dif- 
ficult to  invest  the  commonplace  character  and 
adventures  of  Joe  Maxwell  with  the  vitality 
that  belongs  to  fiction.  Nevertheless,  the  lad 
himself,  and  the  events  which  are  herein  de- 
scribed, seem  to  have  been  born  of  a  dream. 
That  which  is  fiction  pure  and  simple  in  these 
pages  bears  to  me  the  stamp  of  truth,  and  that 
which  is  true  reads  like  a  clumsy  invention. 
In  this  matter  it  is  not  for  me  to  prompt  the 
reader.  He  must  sift  the  fact  from  the  fiction 
and  label  it  to  suit  himself. 

J.  C.  H. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

Introductory  note . 
I. — Joe  Maxwell  makes  a  start 
II. — A  plantation  newspaper 
III. — Tracking  a  runaway 
IV. — Shadows  of  the  war 
V. — Mr.  Wall's  story    . 
VI. — The  owl  and  the  birds 
VII.— Old  Zip  Coon  .... 
VIII. — Something  about  "Sandy  Claus 
IX. — Deserters  and  runaways 
X. — The  story-tellers  . 
XI. — The  relief  committee    . 
XII. — A  Georgia  fox-hunt 
XIII. — A  night's  adventures     . 
XIV. — The  curtain  falls 


PAGE 

vii 

I 

21 

34 
48 

57 
70 

83 
104 
122 
141 
162 
182 
202 
223 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Mr.  Deometari  put  on  his  uniform  . 
He  talks  bigger  than  anybody 
Mr.  Snelson  as  Richard  III     . 

Mink 

"  Hit  make  me  dribble  at  de  mouf  " 

Joe  returns  from  a  rabbit-hunt 

He  was  always  ready  for  an  argument 

"  He  belt  the  acorn  to  his  ear  " 

"  He  des  sot  dar,  he  did,  an'  look  at  um 

Old  Zip  Coon  ..... 

Zimzi        ...... 

Injun  Bill,  whose  reputation  was  very  bad 
"  Dey  went  ter  frolickin'  up  an'  down  de  fiel'  " 
"  De  buzzud  ax  de  big  Injun  what  make  him  look  so 
some  "........ 

Brer  Rabbit  preaches        ...... 

Captain  Johnson      ....... 

"  Some  of  the  men  dropped  on  the  ground  and  declared 
they  would  go  no  farther  " 


lone- 


that 


PACE 

5 
17 
26 

31 

46 

52 

55 
61 

78 

84 

123 

132 

142 

146 

154 

166 

173 


Xll  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

"  Pray  for  it,  boys  ! "        ........   179 

Old  Sandy  leaped  into  the  air .         .         .         .         .         .         .  195 

The  messenger         .........  203 

The  door  attendant  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .211 

Even  the  negroes  were  frightened    ......  225 

A  forager  ..........  228 


ON   THE   PLANTATION. 


CHAPTER    I. 

JOE   MAXWELL   MAKES   A   START. 

The  post-office  in  the  middle  Georgia  vil- 
lage of  Hillsborough  used  to  be  a  queer  little 
place,  whatever  it  is  now.  It  was  fitted  up  in 
a  cellar ;  and  the  postmaster,  who  was  an  en- 
terprising gentleman  from  Connecticut,  had  ar- 
ranged matters  so  that  those  who  went  after 
their  letters  and  papers  could  at  the  same  time 
get  their  grocery  supplies. 

Over  against  the  wall  on  one  side  was  a 
faded  green  sofa.  It  was  not  an  inviting  seat, 
for  in  some  places  the  springs  peeped  through, 
and  one  of  its  legs  was  broken,  giving  it  a  sus- 
picious tilt  against  the  wall.  But  a  certain  lit- 
tle boy  found  one  corner  of  the  rickety  old 
sofa  a  very  comfortable  place,  and  he  used  to 


2  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

curl  up  there  nearly  every  day,  reading  such 
stray  newspapers  as  he  could  lay  hands  on,  and 
watching  the  people  come  and  go. 

To  the  little  boy  the  stock  of  goods  dis- 
played for  sale  was  as  curious  in  its  variety  as 
the  people  who  called  day  after  day  for  the  let- 
ters that  came  or  that  failed  to  come.  To  some 
dainty  persons  the  mingled  odor  of  cheese,  cam- 
phene,  and  mackerel  would  have  been  disagree- 
able ;  but  Joe  Maxwell — that  was  the  name  of 
the  little  boy — had  a  healthy  disposition  and  a 
strong  stomach,  and  he  thought  the  queer  little 
post-ofihce  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  places  in 
the  world. 

A  partition  of  woodwork  and  wire  netting 
cut  off  the  post-office  and  the  little  stock  of 
groceries  from  the  public  at  large,  but  outside 
of  that  was  an  area  where  a  good  many  people 
could  stand  and  wait  for  their  letters.  In  one 
corner  of  this  area  was  the  rickety  green  sofa, 
and  round  about  were  chairs  and  boxes  and 
barrels  on  which  tired  people  could  rest  them- 
selves. 

The  Milledgeville  papers  had  a  large  circu- 
lation in  the  county.  They  were  printed  at  the 
capital  of  the   State,   and   were  thought  to  be 


JOE    MAXWELL    MAKES   A   START.  3 

very  important  on  that  account.  They  had  so 
many  readers  in  the  neighborhood  that  the 
postmaster,  in  order  to  save  time  and  trouble, 
used  to  pile  them  up  on  a  long  shelf  outside  the 
wooden  partition,  where  each  subscriber  could 
help  himself.  Joe  Maxwell  took  advantage  of 
this  method,  and  on  Tuesdays,  when  the  Mil- 
ledgeville  papers  arrived,  he  could  always  be 
found  curled  up  in  the  corner  of  the  old  green 
sofa  reading  the  Recorder  and  the  Federal  Union. 
What  he  found  in  those  papers  to  interest  him 
it  would  be  hard  to  say.  They  were  full  of 
political  essays  that  were  popular  in  those  days, 
and  they  had  long  reports  of  political  conven- 
tions and  meetings  from  all  parts  of  the  State. 
They  were  papers  for  grown  people,  and  Joe 
Maxwell  was  only  twelve  3"ears  old,  and  small 
for  his  age. 

There  was  another  place  that  Joe  found  it 
pleasant  to  visit,  and  that  was  a  lawyer's  office 
in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  old  tavern  that 
looked  out  on  the  pillared  veranda.  It  was  a 
pleasant  place  to  him,  not  because  it  was  a  law- 
office,  but  because  it  was  the  office  of  a  gentle- 
man who  was  very  friendly  to  the  youngster. 
The  gentleman's  name  was  Mr.  Deometari,  and 


4  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

Joe  called  him  Mr.  Deo,  as  did  the  other  people 
of  Hillsborough.  He  was  fat  and  short  and 
wore  whiskers,  which  gave  him  a  peculiar  ap- 
pearance at  that  time.  All  the  rest  of  the  men 
that  Joe  knew  wore  either  a  full  beard  or  a 
mustache  and  an  imperial.  For  that  reason  Mr. 
Deometari's  whiskers  were  very  queer-looking. 
He  was  a  Greek,  and  there  was  a  rumor  among 
the  people  about  town  that  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  leave  his  country  on  account  of  his 
politics.  Joe  never  knew  until  long  afterward 
that  politics  could  be  a  crime.  He  thought  that 
politics  consisted  partly  in  newspaper  articles 
signed  "  Old  Subscriber"  and  "  Many  Citizens  " 
and  "  Vox  Populi "  and  "  Scrutator,"  and  partly 
in  arguments  between  the  men  who  sat  in  fine 
weather  on  the  dry-goods  boxes  under  the 
china-trees.  But  there  was  a  mystery  about 
Mr.  Deometari,  and  it  pleased  the  lad  to  im- 
agine all  sorts  of  romantic  stories  about  the  fat 
lawyer.  Although  Mr.  Deometari  was  a  Greek, 
there  was  no  foreign  twangr  to  his  tonsfue. 
Only  as  close  an  observer  as  the  boy  could 
have  told  from  his  talk  that  he  was  a  foreigner. 
He  was  a  good  lawyer  and  a  good  speaker,'and 
all  the  other  lawyers  seemed  to  like  him.     They 


JOE    MAXWELL   MAKES   A   START. 


5 


enjoyed  his  company  so  well  that  it  was  only 
occasionally  that  Joe  found  him  in  his  office 
alone.      Once    Mr.    Deometari    took    from    his 


Mr.  Deometari  put  on  his  uniform. 


closet  a  military  uniform  and  put  it  on.  Joe 
Maxwell  thought  it  was  the  most  beautiful  uni- 
form he  had  ever  seen.     Gold  braid  ran  down 

2 


6  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

the  sides  of  the  trousers,  gold  cords  hung- 
loosely  on  the  breast  of  the  coat,  and  a  pair 
of  tremendous  epaulets  surmounted  the  shoul- 
ders. The  hat  was  something  like  the  hats  Joe 
had  seen  in  picture-books.  It  was  caught  up  at 
the  sides  with  little  gold  buttons,  and  trimmed 
with  a  long  black  feather  that  shone  like  a  pig- 
eon's breast.  Fat  as  Mr.  Deometari  was,  the 
lad  thought  he  looked  very  handsome  in  his  fine 
uniform.  This  was  only  one  incident.  In  his 
room,  which  was  a  large  one,  Mr.  Deometari 
had  boxes  packed  with  books,  and  he  gave  Joe 
leave  to  ransack  them.  Many  of  the  volumes 
were  in  strange  tongues,  but  among  them  w^ere 
some  quaint  old  English  books,  and  these  the 
lad  relished  beyond  measure.  After  a  while 
Mr.  Deometari  closed  his  office  and  went  away 
to  the  war. 

It  would  not  be  fair  to  say  that  Joe  was  a 
studious  lad.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  of  an 
adventurous  turn  of  mind,  and  he  was  not  at  all 
fond  of  the  books  that  were  in  his  desk  at  Hills- 
borough Academy.  He  was  full  of  all  sorts  of 
pranks  and  capers,  and  there  were  plenty  ot 
people  in  the  little  town  ready  to  declare  that 
he  would  come  to  some  bad  end  if  he  was  not 


JOE    MAXWELL   MAKES   A   START.  7 

more  frequently  dosed  with  what  the  old  folks 
used  to  call  hickory  oil.  Some  of  Joe  Maxwell's 
pranks  were  commonplace,  but  others  were  in- 
genious enough  to  give  him  quite  a  reputa- 
tion for  humor,  and  one  prank  in  particular  is 
talked  of  by  the  middle-aged  people  of  Hills- 
borough to  this  day. 

The  teacher  of  the  academy  had  organized  a 
military  company  among  the  pupils — it  was  just 
about  the  time  when  rumors  and  hints  of  war 
had  begun  to  take  shape — and  a  good  deal  of 
interest  was  felt  in  the  organization,  especially 
by  the  older  boys.  Of  this  company  Joe  Max- 
well was  the  fourth  corporal,  a  position  which 
gave  him  a  place  at  the  foot  of  the  company. 
The  Hillsborough  Cadets  drilled  every  school- 
day,  and  sometimes  on  Saturdays,  and  they 
soon  grew  to  be  very  proud  of  their  profi- 
ciency. 

At  last,  after  a  good  deal  of  manoeuvring  on 
the  playgrounds  and  in  the  public  square,  the 
teacher,  who  was  the  captain,  concluded  that 
the  boys  had  earned  a  vacation,  and  it  was  de- 
cided that  the  company  should  go  into  camp  for 
a  week  on  the  Oconee  River,  and  fish  and  hunt 
and   have   a   good  time  generally.      The   boys 


8  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

fairly  went  wild  when  the  announcement  was 
made,  and  some  of  them  wanted  to  hug  the 
teacher,  who  had  hard  work  to  explain  that  an 
attempt  of  this  sort  was  not  in  accord  with  mili- 
tary tactics  or  discipline. 

All  the  arrangements  were  duly  made.  Tents 
were  borrowed  from  the  Hillsborough  Rifles, 
and  the  drum  corps  of  that  company  was  hired 
to  make  music.  A  half-dozen  wagons  carried 
""the  camp  outfit  and  the  small  boys,  while  the 
larger  ones  marched.  It  was  an  entirely  new 
experience  for  Joe  Maxwell,  and  he  enjoyed  it 
as  only  a  healthy  and  high-spirited  boy  could 
enjoy  it.  The  formal  and  solemn  way  in  which 
the  guard  was  mounted  was  ver}'-  funny  to  him, 
and  the  temptation  to  make  a  joke  of  it  was  too 
strong  to  be  resisted. 

The  tents  were  pitched  facing  each  other, 
with  the  officers'  tent  at  the  head  of  the  line 
thus  formed.  At  the  other  end  of  the  lane  and  a 
little  to  the  rear  was  the  baggage-tent,  in  which 
the  trunks,  boxes,  and  commissaries  were  stored. 
Outside  of  all,  the  four  sentinels  marched  up 
and  down.  The  tents  were  pitched  in  an  old 
field  that  was  used  as  a  pasture,  and  Joe  noticed 
during   the   afternoon  two  mules  and  a  horse 


JOE   MAXWELL   MAKES   A   START.  9 

browsing  around.  He  noticed,  too,  that  these 
animals  were  very  much  disturbed,  especially 
when  the  drums  began  to  beat,  and  that  their 
curiosity  would  not  permit  them  to  get  very  far 
from  the  camp,  no  matter  how  frightened  they 
were. 

It  happened  that  one  of  Joe's  messmates  was 
to  go  on  guard  duty  at  twelve  o'clock  that 
night.  He  was  a  fat,  awkward,  good-natured 
fellow,  this  messmate,  and  a  heavy  sleeper,  too, 
so  that,  when  the  corporal  of  the  guard  under- 
took to  arouse  him,  all  the  boys  in  the  tent  were 
awakened.  All  except  Joe  quickly  went  to  sleep 
again,  but  this  enterprising  youngster  quietly 
put  on  his  clothes,  and,  in  the  confusion  of 
changing  the  guard,  slipped  out  of  the  lines 
and  hid  in  a  convenient  gully  not  far  from  the 
camp. 

It  was  his  intention  to  worry  if  not  to  fright- 
en his  messmate,  and  while  he  lay  there  trying 
to  think  out  the  best  plan  to  pursue,  he  heard 
the  horse  and  mules  trampling  and  snorting  not 
very  far  off.  Their  curiosity  was  not  yet  satis- 
fied, and  they  seemed  to  be  making  their  way 
toward  the  camp  for  the  purpose  of  reconnoi- 
tering.     Joe's  mind  was  made  up  in  an  instant. 


lO  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

He  slipped  down  the  gully  until  the  animals 
were  between  him  and  the  camp,  and  then,  seiz- 
ing a  large  pine  brush  that  happened  to  be  lying 
near,  he  sprang  toward  them.  The  mules  and 
horse  were  ripe  for  a  stampede.  The  camp  it- 
self was  an  object  of  suspicion,  and  this  attack 
from  an  unexpected  quarter  was  too  much  for 
them.  Snorting  with  terror  they  rushed  in  the 
direction  of  the  tents.  The  sleepy  sentinel,  hear- 
ing them  coming,  fired  his  gun  in  the  air  and 
ran  yelling  into  the  camp,  followed  by  the  horse 
and  one  of  the  mules.  Tlie  other  mule  shied  to 
the  right  when  the  gun  was  fired,  and  ran  into 
the  baggage-tent.  There  was  a  tremendous  rat- 
tle and  clatter  of  boxes,  pots,  pans,  and  crockery 
ware.  The  mule,  crazed  with  fright,  made  a  vio- 
lent effort  to  get  through  the  tent,  but  it  caught 
him  in  some  way.  Finally,  the  ropes  that  held 
it  down  gave  way,  and  the  mule,  with  the  tent 
flapping  and  flopping  on  his  back,  turned  and 
rushed  through  the  camp.  To  all  but  Joe  Max- 
well it  was  a  horrifying  sight.  Many  of  the  boys, 
as  the  saying  is,  "  took  to  the  woods,"  and  some 
of  them  were  prostrated  with  fright.  These 
were  consequences  that  Joe  had  not  counted 
on,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  confessed 


JOE    MAXWELL    MAKES   A   START.  II 

to  his  share  in  the  night's  sport.  The  results 
reached  further  than  the  camp.  In  another  part 
of  the  plantation  the  negroes  were  holding  a  re- 
vival meeting  in  the  open  air,  preaching  and 
shouting  and  singing.  Toward  this  familiar 
scene  the  mule  made  his  way,  squealing,  bra)'- 
ing,  and  kicking,  the  big  white  tent  flopping  on 
his  back.  As  the  terrified  animal  circled  around 
the  place,  the  negroes  cried  out  that  Satan  had 
come,  and  the  panic  that  ensued  among  them 
is  not  easily  described.  Many  thought  that  the 
apparition  was  the  ushering  in  of  the  judgment- 
day,  while  by  far  the  greater  number  firmly  be- 
lieved that  the  "  Old  Boy  "  himself  was  after 
them.  The  uproar  they  made  could  be  plainly 
heard  at  the  camp,  more  than  a  mile  away — 
shrieks,  screams,  yells,  and  cries  for  mercy. 
After  it  was  all  over,  and  Joe  Maxwell  had 
crept  quietly  to  bed,  the  thought  came  to  him 
that  it  was  not  such  a  fine  joke,  after  all,  and  he 
lay  awake  a  long  time  repenting  the  night's 
work.  He  heard  the  next  day  that  nobody  had 
been  hurt  and  that  no  serious  damage  had  been 
done,  but  it  was  many  weeks  before  he  forgave 
himself  for  his  thoughtless  prank. 

Although  Joe  was  fond  of  fun,  and  had  a 


12  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

great  desire  to  be  a  clown  in  a  circus  or  to  be 
the  driver  of  a  stage-coach — just  such  a  red  and 
yellow  coach,  with  "  U.  S.  M."  painted  on  its 
doors,  as  used  to  carry  passengers  and  the  mails 
between  Hillsborough  and  Rockville — he  never 
permitted  his  mind  to  dwell  on  these  things. 
He  knew  very  well  that  the  time  would  soon 
come  when  he  would  have  to  support  his 
mother  and  himself.  This  thought  used  to 
come  to  him  again  and  again  when  he  was  sit- 
ting in  the  little  post-office,  reading  the  Mill- 
edgeville  papers. 

It  so  happened  that  these  papers  grew^  very 
interesting  to  both  old  and  young  as  the  days 
went  by.  The  rumors  of  war  had  developed 
into  war  itself.  In  the  course  of  a  few  months 
two  companies  of  volunteers  had  gone  to  Vir- 
ginia from  Hillsborough,  and  the  little  town 
seemed  to  be  lonelier  and  more  deserted  than 
ever.  Joe  Maxwell  noticed,  as  he  sat  in  the 
post-office,  that  only  a  very  few  old  men  and 
ladies  came  after  the  letters  and  papers,  and  he 
missed  a  great  many  faces  that  used  to  smile  at 
him  as  he  sat  reading,  and  some  of  them  he 
never  saw  again.  He  noticed,  too,  that  when 
there  had  been  a  battle  or  a  skirmish  the  ladies 


JOE    MAXWELL   MAKES  A   START.  1 3 

and  young  girls  came  to  the  post-office  more 
frequently.  When  the  news  was  very  impor- 
tant, one  of  the  best-known  citizens  would 
mount  a  chair  or  a  dry-goods  box  and  read  the 
telegrams  aloud  to  the  waiting  and  anxious 
group  of  people,  and  sometimes  the  hands  and 
the  voice  of  the  reader  trembled. 

One  day  while  Joe  Maxwell  was  sitting  in 
the  post-office  looking  over  the  Milledgeville 
papers,  his  eye  fell  on  an  advertisement  that 
interested  him  greatly.  It  seemed  to  bring 
the  whole  world  nearer  to  him.  The  adver- 
tisement set  forth  the  fact  that  on  next  Tues- 
day the  first  number  of  The  Countryman,  a  week- 
ly paper  would  be  published.  It  would  be 
modeled  after  Mr.  Addison's  little  paper,  the 
Spectator,  Mr.  Goldsmith's  little  paper,  the  Bee, 
and  Mr.  Johnson's  little  paper,  the  Rambler.  It 
would  be  edited  by  J.  A.  Turner,  and  it  would 
be  issued  on  the  plantation  of  the  editor,  nine 
miles  from  Hillsborough.  Joe  read  this  adver- 
tisement over  a  dozen  times,  and  it  was  with  a 
great  deal  of  impatience  that  he  waited  for  the 
next  Tuesday  to  come. 

But  the  day  did  come,  and  with  it  came  the 
first  issue  of  The  Countryman.     Joe  read  it  from 


14  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

beginning  to  end,  advertisements  and  all,  and 
he  thought  it  was  the  most  entertaining  little 
paper  he  had  ever  seen.  Among  the  interest- 
ing things  was  an  announcement  by  the  editor 
that  he  wanted  a  boy- to  learn  the  printing 
business.  Joe  borrowed  pen  and  ink  and  some 
paper  from  the  friendly  postmaster,  and  wrote 
a  letter  to  the  editor,  saying  that  he  would  be 
glad  to  learn  the  printing  business.  The  letter 
was  no  doubt  an  awkward  one,  but  it  served  its 
purpose,  for  when  the  editor  of  The  Countryman 
came  to  Hillsborough  he  hunted  Joe  up,  and 
told  him  to  get  ready  to  go  to  the  plantation. 
The  lad,  not  without  some  misgivings,  put  away 
his  tops  and  marbles,  packed  his  little  belong- 
ings in  an  old-fashioned  trunk,  kissed  his  mother 
and  his  grandmother  good-by,  and  set  forth  on 
what  turned  out  to  be  the  most  important  jour- 
ney of  his  life. 

Sitting  in  the  buggy  by  the  side  of  the  ed- 
itor and  publisher  of  TJie  Coiintryma7t,  Joe  Max- 
well felt  lonely  indeed,  and  this  feeling  was  in- 
creased as  he  went  through  the  little  town  and 
heard  his  schoolmates,  who  were  at  their  mar- 
bles on  the  public  square,  bidding  him  good- 
by.     He  could  hardly  keep  back  his  tears  at 


JOE    MAXWELL   MAKES   A   START.  1 5 

this,  but,  on  looking  around  after  the  buggy 
had  gone  a  little  way,  he  saw  his  friends  had 
returned  to  their  marbles,  and  the  thought 
struck  him  that  he  was  already  forgotten. 
Many  and  many  a  time  after  that  he  thought  of 
his  little  companions  and  how  quickly  they  had 
returned  to  their  marbles. 

The  editor  of  TJie  Countryinati  must  have  di- 
vined what  was  passing  in  the  lad's  mind  (he 
was  a  quick-witted  man  and  a  clever  one,  too), 
for  he  tried  to  engage  in  conversation  with  Joe. 
But  the  boy  preferred  to  nurse  his  loneliness, 
and  would  only  talk  when  he  was  compelled 
to  answer  a  question.  Finally,  the  editor  asked 
him  if  he  would  drive,  and  this  Joe  was  glad 
enough  to  do,  for  there  is  some  diversion  in 
holding  the  reins  over  a  spirited  horse.  The 
editor's  horse  was  a  large  gray,  named  Ben 
Bolt,  and  he  was  finer  than  any  of  the  horses 
that  Joe  had  seen  at  the  livery-stable.  Feeling 
a  new  and  an  unaccustomed  touch  on  the  reins, 
Ben  Bolt  made  an  effort  to  give  a  new  meaning 
to  his  name  by  bolting  sure  enough.  The  road 
was  level  and  hard,  and  the  horse  ran  rapidly 
for  a  little  distance  ;  but  Joe  Maxwell's  arms 
were  tough,  and  before  the  horse  had  gone  a 


l6  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

quarter  of  a  mile  the  lad  had  him  completely 
under  control. 

"  You  did  that  very  well,"  said  the  editor, 
who  was  familiar  with  Ben  Bolt's  tricks.  "  I 
didn't  know  that  little  boys  in  town  could 
drive  horses." 

"Oh,  sometimes  they  can,"  replied  Joe.  "If 
he  had  been  scared,  I  think  I  should  have  been 
scared  myself;  but  he  was  only  playing.  He 
has  been  tied  at  the  rack  all  day,  and  he  must 
be  hungry." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  editor,  "  he  is  hungry,  and 
he  wants  to  see  his  mate,  Rob  Roy." 

Then  the  editor,  in  a  fanciful  way,  went  on 
to  talk  about  Ben  Bolt  and  Rob  Roy,  as  if  they 
were  persons  instead  of  horses ;  but  it  did  not 
seem  fanciful  to  Joe,  who  had  a  strange  sympa- 
thy with  animals  of  all  kinds,  especially  horses 
and  dogs.  It  pleased  him  greatly  to  think  that 
he  had  ideas  in  common  with  a  grown  man, 
who  knew  how  to  write  for  the  papers ;  and 
if  the  editor  was  talking  to  make  Joe  forget 
his  loneliness  he  succeeded  admirably,  for  the 
lad  thought  no  more  of  the  boys  who  had  so 
quickly  returned  to  their  marbles,  but  only 
of  his  mother,   whom  he  had  last  seen  stand- 


JOE    MAXWELL    MAKES   A    START. 


17 


ing  at   the   little  gate  smiling  at   him  through 
her  tears. 

As  they  drove  along  the  editor  pointed  out 
a  little  log-cabin  near  the  road. 


He  talks  bigger  than  anybody. 

"  That,"  said  he,  "  is  where  the  high  sheriff 
of  the  county  lives.  Do  you  know  Colonel  John 
B.  Stith?" 


lo  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

"  Yes,"  Joe  replied  ;  "  but  I  thought  he  lived 
in  a  large,  fine  house.  I  don't  see  how  he  can 
get  in  at  that  door  yonder." 

''  What  makes  you  think  he  is  too  big  for 
the  door?"  asked  the  editor, 

"  Why,  the  way  he  goes  on,"  said  Joe,  with 
the  bluntness  of  youth.  "  He  is  always  in  town 
talking  politics,  and  he  talks  bigger  than  any- 
body." 

"Well,"  said  the  editor,  laughing,  "that  is 
his  house.  When  you  get  a  little  older  you'll 
find  people  who  are  more  disappointing  than 
the  high  sheriff.  Boys  are  sometimes  too  big 
for  their  breeches,  I've  heard  said,  but  this  is 
the  first  time  I  ever  heard  that  a  man  could  be 
too  big  for  his  house.  That  is  a  good  one  on 
the  colonel." 

Ben  Bolt  trotted  along  steadily  and  rapidly, 
but  after  a  while  dusk  fell,  and  then  the  stars 
came  out.  Joe  peered  ahead,  trying  to  make 
out  the  road. 

"  Just  let  the  horse  have  his  way,"  said  the 
editor.  "  He  knows  the  road  better  than  I  do" ; 
and  it  seemed  to  be  so,  for,  when  heavy  clouds 
from  the  west  came  up  and  hid  the  stars,  and 
only  the  darkness  was  visible,  Ben  Bolt  trotted 


JOE    MAXWELL   MAKES   A   START.  I9 

along  as  steadily  as  ever.  He  splashed  through 
Crooked  Creek,  walked  up  the  long  hill,  and 
then  started  forward  more  rapidly  than  ever. 

"  It  is  a  level  road,  now,"  the  editor  re- 
marked, "  and  Ben  Bolt  is  on  the  home-stretch." 

In  a  Httle  while  he  stopped  before  a  large 
gate.  It  was  opened  in  a  jiffy  by  some  one  who 
seemed  to  be  waiting. 

"  Is  that  you,  Harbert?  "  asked  the  editor. 

"  Yes,  marster." 
■  "  Well,  I  want  you  to  take  Mr.  Maxwell  here 
to  Mr.  Snelson's." 

"  Yasser,"  responded  the  negro. 

"Snelson  is  the  foreman  of  the  printing-of- 
fice," the  editor  explained  to  Joe,  "  and  for  the 
present  you  are  to  board  with  him.  I  hope 
he  will  make  things  pleasant  for  you.  Good- 
night." 

To  the  lonely  lad  it  seemed  a  long  journey 
to  Mr.  Snelson's— through  wide  plantation  gates, 
down  narrow  lanes,  along  a  bit  of  public  road, 
and  then  a  plunge  into  the  depths  of  a  great 
wood,  where  presently  a  light  gleamed  through. 

"  I'll  hail  'em,"  said  Harbert,  and  he  sent  be- 
fore him  into  the  darkness  a  musical  halloo, 
whereupon,  as   promptly   as   its   echo,  came   a 


20  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

hearty  response  from  the  house,  with  just  the 
faintest  touch  of  the  Irish  brogue  in  the  voice. 

"  Ah,  and  it's  the  young  man  !  Jump  right 
down  and  come  in  to  the  warmth  of  the  fire. 
There's  something  hot  on  the  hearth,  where  it's 
waiting  you." 

And  so  Joe  Maxwell  entered  on  a  new  life — 
a  life  as  different  as  possible  from  that  which  he 
had  left  behind  in  Hillsborough. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A   PLANTATION   NEWSPAPER. 

The  printing-office  was  a  greater  revelation 
to  Joe  Maxwell  than  it  would  be  to  any  of  the 
youngsters  who  may  happen  to  read  this.  It 
was  a  very  small  affair;  the  type  was  old  and 
worn,  and  the  hand-press — a  Washington  No. 
2 — had  seen  considerable  service.  But  it  was 
all  new  to  Joe,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  to  be- 
come a  part  of  the  machinery  aroused  in  his 
mind  the  most  delightful  sensations.  He  quick- 
ly mastered  the  boxes  of  the  printer's  case,  and 
before  many  days  was  able  to  set  type  swiftly 
enough  to  be  of  considerable  help  to  Mr.  Snel- 
son,  who  was  foreman,  compositor,  and  pressman. 

The  one  queer  feature  about  The  Coiintryvian 
was  the  fact  that  it  was  the  only  plantation 
newspaper  that  has  ever  been  published,  the 
nearest  post-office  being  nine  miles  away.  It 
might    be    supposed    that    such    a    newspaper 


22  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

would  be  a  failure  ;  but  The  Countryman  was 
a  success  from  the  start,  and  at  one  time  it 
reached  a  circulation  of  nearly  two  thousand 
copies.  The  editor  was  a  very  original  writer, 
and  his  editorials  in  TJie  Countryman  were 
quoted  in  all  the  papers  in  the  Confederacy,  but 
he  was  happiest  when  engaged  in  a  political 
controversy.  Another  feature  of  The  Country- 
man was  the  fact  that  there  was  never  any  lack 
of  copy  for  the  foreman  and  the  apprentice  to 
set.  Instead  of  clipping  from  his  exchanges, 
the  editor  sent  to  the  office  three  books,  from 
which  extracts  could  be  selected.  These  books 
were  Lacon,  Percy's  Anecdotes,  and  Rochefou- 
cauld's Maxims.  Then  there  were  weekly  letters 
from  the  army  in  Virginia  and  voluntary  con- 
tributions from  many  ambitious  writers.  Some 
of  the  war  correspondence  was  very  gloom}', 
for  as  the  months  wore  on  it  told  of  the  death 
of  a  great  many  young  men  whom  Joe  had 
known,  and  the  most  of  them  had  been  very 
kind  to  him. 

The  days  in  the  printing-office  would  have 
been  very  lonely  for  Joe,  but  the  grove  that 
surrounded  it  was  full  of  gray  squirrels.  These 
had  been  so  long  undisturbed  that  they  were 


A   PLANTATION   NEWSPAPER.  23 

comparatively  tame.  They  were  in  the  habit 
of  running  about  over  the  roof  of  the  office 
and  playing  at  hide-and-seek  like  little  children. 
To  the  roof,  too,  the  blue-jays  would  bring  their 
acorns  and  hammer  at  the  hard  shells  in  the 
noisiest  way,  and  once  a  red  fox  made  bold  to 
venture  near  Joe's  window,  where  he  stood 
listening  and  sniffing  the  air  until  some  noise 
caused  him  to  vanish  like  a  flash.  Most  inter- 
esting of  all,  a  partridge  and  her  mate  built 
their  nest  within  a  few  feet  of  the  window,  and 
it  often  happened  that  Joe  neglected  his  work 
in  watching  the  birds.  They  bent  the  long 
grass  over  from  each  side  carefully  until  they 
had  formed  a  little  tunnel  three  or  four  feet 
long.  When  this  was  done,  Mrs.  Partridge 
made  her  way  to  the  end  of  it  and  began  to 
scratch  and  flutter  just  as  a  hen  does  when  tak- 
ing a  dust-bath.  She  was  hollowing  out  her 
nest.  By  the  time  the  nest  was  completed  the 
archway  of  grass  that  had  hid  it  was  consid- 
erably disarranged.  Then  Mrs.  Partridge  sat 
quietly  on  the  little  hollow  she  had  made,  while 
Mr.  Partridge  rebuilt  the  archway  over  her  un- 
til she  was  completely  concealed.  He  was  very 
careful  about  this.     Frequently  he  would  walk 


24  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

off  a  little  way  and  turn  and  look  at  the  nest. 
If  his  sharp  eyes  could  see  anything  suspicious, 
he  would  return  and  weave  the  grass  more 
closely  together.  Finally,  he  seemed  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  his  work.  He  shook  his  wings  and 
began  to  preen  himself,  and  then  Mrs.  Par- 
tridge came  out  and  joined  him.  They  con- 
sulted together  with  queer  little  duckings,  and 
finally  ran  off  into  the  undergrowth  as  if  bent 
on  a  frolic. 

The  work  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Partridge  was  so 
well  done  that  Joe  found  it  very  difficult  to  dis- 
cover the  nest  when  he  went  out  of  the  office. 
He  knew  where  it  was  from  his  window,  but 
when  he  came  to  look  for  it  out  of  doors  it 
seemed  to  have  disappeared,  so  deftly  was  it 
concealed  ;  and  he  would  have  been  compelled 
to  hunt  for  it  very  carefully  but  for  the  fact  that 
when  Mrs.  Partridge  found  herself  disturbed 
she  rushed  from  the  little  grass  tunnel  and 
threw  herself  at  Joe's  feet,  fluttering  around  as 
if  desperately  wounded,  and  uttering  strange  lit- 
tle cries  of  distress.  Once  she  actually  touched 
his  feet  with  her  wings,  but  when  he  stooped  to 
pick  her  up  she  managed  to  flutter  off  just  out 
of  reach  of  his  hand.     Joe  followed  along  after 


A   PLANTATION    NEWSPAPER.  25 

Mrs.  Partridge  for  some  little  distance,  and  he 
discovered  that  the  farther  she  led  him  away 
from  her  nest  the  more  her  condition  improved, 
until  finally  she  ran  off  into  the  sedge  and  disap- 
peared. Joe  has  never  been  able  to  find  any 
one  to  tell  him  how  Mrs.  Partridge  knew  what 
kind  of  antics  a  badly  wounded  bird  would  cut 
up.  He  has  been  told  that  it  is  the  result  of  in- 
stinct. The  scientists  say,  however,  that  instinct 
is  the  outgrowth  of  necessity  ;  but  it  seems  hard 
to  believe  that  necessity  could  have  given  Mrs. 
Partridge  such  accurate  knowledge  of  the  move- 
ments of  a  wounded  bird. 

In  carrying  proofs  from  the  printing-office 
to  the  editor,  Joe  Maxwell  made  two  discoveries 
that  he  considered  very  important.  One  was 
that  there  was  a  big  library  of  the  best  books  at 
his  command,  and  the  other  was  that  there  was 
a  pack  of  well-trained  harriers  on  the  plantation. 
He  loved  books  and  he  loved  dogs,  and  if  he 
had  been  asked  to  choose  between  the  library 
and  the  harriers  he  would  have  hesitated  a  long 
time.  The  books  were  more  numerous — there 
were  nearly  two  thousand  of  them,  while  there 
were  only  five  harriers — but  in  a  good  many  re- 
spects the  dogs  were  the  liveliest.     Fortunately, 


26 


ON   THE    PLANTATION. 


Joe  was  not  called  on  to  make  any  choice.  He 
had  the  dogs  to  himself  in  the  late  afternoon  and 
the  books  at  night,  and  he  made  the  most  of  both. 
More  than  this,  he  had  the  benefit  of  the  culture 
of  the  editor  of  The  Countryman  and  of  the 
worldly  experience  of  Mr.  Snelson,  the  printer. 
To  Joe  Maxwell,  sadly  lacking  in  knowledge 
of  mankind,  Mr.  Snelson  seemed  to  be  the  most 


Mr.  Snelson  as  Richard  III. 


engaging  of  men.  He  was  the  echo  and  mouth- 
piece of  a  world  the  youngster  had  heard  of  but 
never  seen,  and  it  pleased  him  to  hear  the  genial 
printer  rehearse  his  experiences,  ranging  all  the 


A   PLANTATION    NEWSPAPER.  27 

way  from  Belfast,  Ireland,  where  he  was  born, 
to  all  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  United 
States,  including  the  little  settlement  where  the 
plantation  newspaper  was  published.  Mr.  Snel- 
son  had  been  a  tramp  and  almost  a  tragedian, 
and  he  was  pleased  on  many  occasions  to  give 
his  little  apprentice  a  taste  of  his  dramatic  art. 
He  would  stuff  a  pillow  under  his  coat  and  give 
readings  from  Richard  III,  or  wrap  his  wife's 
mantilla  about  him  and  play  Hamlet.  When 
tired  of  the  stage  he  would  clear  his  throat  and 
render  some  of  the  old  ballads,  which  he  sang 
very  sweetly  indeed. 

One  night,  after  the  little  domestic  concert 
was  over  and  Joe  was  reading  a  book  by  the 
light  of  the  pine-knot  fire,  a  great  fuss  was  heard 
in  the  hen-house,  which  was  some  distance  from 
the  dwelling. 

"  Run,  John,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Snelson  ;  "  I 
just  know  somebody  is  stealing  my  dominicker 
hen  and  her  chickens.     Run  !  " 

"  Let  the  lad  go,"  said  Mr.  Snelson,  amiably. 
"  He's  young  and  nimble,  and  whoever's  there 
he'll  catch  'em. — Run,  lad  !  and  if  ye  need 
help,  lift  your  voice  and  I'll  be  wit'  ye  di- 
rectly." 


28  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

The  dwelling  occupied  by  Mr.  Snelson  was 
in  the  middle  of  a  thick  wood,  and  at  night, 
when  there  was  no  moon,  it  was  very  dark  out 
of  doors;  but  Joe  Maxwell  was  not  afraid  of 
the  dark.  He  leaped  from  the  door  and  had 
reached  the  hen-house  before  the  chickens 
ceased  cackling  and  fluttering.  It  was  too  dark 
to  see  anything,  but  Joe,  in  groping  his  way 
around,  laid  his  hand  on  Somebody. 

His  sensations  would  be  hard  to  describe. 
His  heart  seemed  to  jump  into  his  mouth,  and 
he  felt  a  thrill  run  over  him  from  head  to  foot. 
It  was  not  fear,  for  he  did  not  turn  and  flee. 
He  placed  his  hand  again  on  the  Somebody  and 
asked  : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

Whatever  it  was  trembled  most  violently 
and  the  reply  came  in  a  weak,  shaking  voice 
and  in  the  shape  of  another  question : 

"  Is  dis  de  little  marster  what  come  fum  town 
ter  work  in  de  paper  office  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  who  are  you,  and  what  are  you  doing 
here?  " 

"  I'm  name  Mink,  suh,  an'  I  b'longs  to  Marse 
Tom  Gaither.  I  bin  run'd  away  an'  I  got  dat 
hongry  dat  it  look  like  I  bleedz  ter  ketch  me  a 


A   PLANTATION   NEWSPAPER.  20 

chicken.  I  bin  mighty  nigh  famished,  suh.  I 
wish  you'd  please,  suh,  excusen  me  dis  time." 

"  Why  didn't  you  break  and  run  when  you 
heard  me  coming  ? "  asked  Joe,  who  was  dis- 
posed to  take  a  practical  view  of  the  matter. 

"  You  wuz  dat  light-footed,  suh,  dat  I  ain't 
hear  you,  an'  sides  dat,  I  got  my  han'  kotch  in 
dish  yer  crack,  an'  you  wuz  right  on  top  er  me 
'fo'  I  kin  work  it  out." 

"  Why  don't  you  stay  at  home  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Dey  don't  treat  me  right,  suh,"  said  the 
negro,  simply.  The  very  tone  of  his  voice  was 
more  convincing  than  any  argument  could  have 
been.  s 

"  Can  you  get  your  hand  out  of  the  crack  ?  " 
asked  Joe. 

"  Lord,  yes,  suh  ;  I'd  'a  done  got  it  out  fo' 
now,  but  when  you  lipt  on  me  so  quick  all  my 
senses  wuz  skeered  out'n  me." 

"Well,"  said  Joe,  "get  your  hand  out  and 
stay  here  till  I  come  back,  and  I'll  fetch  you 
something  to  eat." 

"  You  ain't  foolin'  me,  is  you,  little  marster  ?  " 

"Do  I  look  like  I'd  fool  you?"  said  Joe, 
scornfully. 

"  I  can't  see  you  plain,  suh,"  said  the  negro, 


30  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

drawing  a  long  breath,  "  but  you  don't  talk  like 
it." 

"  Well,  get  your  hand  loose  and  wait." 

As  Joe  turned  to  go  to  the  house,  he  saw  Mr. 
Snelson  standing  in  the  door. 

"  It's  all  right,  sir,"  the  youngster  said. 
"  None  of  the  chickens  are  gone." 

"  A  great  deal  of  fuss  and  no  feathers,"  said 
Mr.  Snelson.     "  I  doubt  but  it  was  a  mink." 

"Yes,"  said  Joe,  laughing.  "It  must  have 
been  a  Mink,  and  I'm  going  to  set  a  bait  for  him." 

"  In  all  this  dark  ? "  asked  the  printer. 
"  Why,  I  could  stand  in  the  door  and  crush  it 
wit'  me  teeth." 

"  Why,  yes,"  replied  Joe.  "  I'll  take  some 
biscuit  and  a  piece  of  corn  bread,  and  scatter 
them  around  the  hen-house,  and  if  the  mink 
comes  back  he'll  get  the  bread  and  leave  the 
chickens  alone." 

"  Capital  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Snelson,  slapping 
Joe  on  the  back.  "  I  says  to  mother  here,  says 
I, '  As  sure  as  you're  born  to  die,  old  woman,  that 
b'y  has  got  the  stuff  in  'im  that  they  make  men 
out  of.'  I  said  them  very  words.  Now  didn't 
I,  mother?" 

Joe  got  three  biscuits  and    a  pone  of  corn- 


A   PLANTATION    NEWSPAPER. 


31 


bread  and  carried  them  to  Mink.  The  neo-ro 
had  freed  his  hand,  and  he  loomed  up  in  the 
darkness  as  tall  as  a  giant. 

"  Wh}^  jou  seem  to  be  as  big  as  a  horse," 
said  Joe. 

"  Thanky,  little  marster,  thanky.  Yes,  suh, 
I'm  a  mighty  stout  nigger,  an'  ef  marster  would 


Mink. 


des  make  dat  overseer  lemme  'lone  I'd  do  some 
mighty  good  work,  an'  I'd  a  heap  druther  do  it 
dan  ter  be  hidin'  out  in  de  swamp  dis  away  like 
some  wir  varmint.     Good-night,  little  marster." 

"  Good-night !  "  said  Joe. 

**God  bless  you,  little  marster!  "  cried  Mink, 
as  he  vanished  in  the  darkness. 


32  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

That  night  in  Joe  Maxwell's  dreams  the 
voice  of  the  fugitive  came  back  to  him,  crying, 
"  God  bless  you,  little  marster  !  " 

But  it  was  not  in  dreams  alone  that  Mink 
came  back  to  Joe.  In  more  than  one  way  the 
negro  played  an  important  part  in  the  lad's  life 
on  the  plantation.  One  evening  about  dusk,  as 
Joe  was  going  home,  taking  a  "  near  cut " 
through  the  Bermuda  pasture,  a  tall  form  loomed 
up  before  him,  outlining  itself  against  the  sky. 

"  Howdy,  little  marster  !  'Tain't  nobody  but 
Mink.  I  des  come  ter  tell  you  dat  ef  you  want 
anything  out'n  de  woods  des  sen'  me  word  by 
Harbert.  I  got  some  pa'tridge-eggs  here  now. 
Deyer  tied  up  in  a  rag,  but  dat  don't  hurt  um. 
Ef  you'll  des  spread  out  yo'  hank'cher  I'll  put 
um  in  it." 

"  Haven't  you  gone  home  yet  ?  "  asked  Joe, 
as  he  held  out  his  handkerchief. 

"  Lord,  no,  suh  !  "  exclaimed  the  negro.  "  De 
boys  say  dat  de  overseer  say  he  waitin'  fer  Mink 
wid  a  club." 

There  were  four  dozen  of  these  eggs,  and  Joe 
and  Mr.  Snelson  enjoyed  them  hugely. 

From  that  time  forward,  in  one  way  and 
another,  Joe   Maxwell  kept  in  communication 


A   PLANTATION   NEWSPAPER.  33 

with  Mink.  The  lad  was  not  too  young  to  ob- 
serve that  the  negroes  on  the  plantation  treated 
him  with  more  consideration  than  they  showed 
to  other  white  people  with  the  exception  of 
their  master.  There  was  nothing  they  were 
not  ready  to  do  for  him  at  any  time  of  day  or 
night.  The  secret  of  it  was  explained  by  Har- 
bert,  the  man-of-all-work  around  the  "  big  house." 

"  Marse  Joe,"  said  Harbert  one  day,  "  I  wuz 
gwine  'long  de  road  de  udder  night  an'  I  met 
a  great  big  nigger  man.  Dish  yer  nigger  man 
took  an'  stop  me,  he  did,  an'  he  'low,  '  Dey's  a 
little  white  boy  on  yo'  place  which  I  want  you 
fer  ter  keep  yo'  two  eyes  on  'im,  an'  when  he 
say  come,  you  come,  an'  when  he  say  go,  you 
go.'  I  'low,  '  'hey,  big  nigger  man !  what  de 
matter?'  an'  he  'spon'  back,  'I  done  tole  you, 
an'  I  ain't  gwine  tell  you  no  mo'.'  So  dar  you 
got  it,  Marse  Joe,  an'  dat  de  way  it  stan's." 

And  so  it  happened  that,  humble  as  these 
negroes  were,  they  had  it  in  their  power  to 
smooth  many  a  rough  place  in  Joe  Maxwell's 
life.  The  negro  women  looked  after  him  with 
almost  motherly  care,  and  pursued  him  with 
kindness,  while  the  men  were  always  ready  to 
contribute  to  his  pleasure. 


CHAPTER   III. 
TRACKING   A   RUNAWAY. 

One  Sunday  morning,  not  long-  after  Joe's 
adventure  with  Mink,  Harbert  came  to  him 
with  a  serious  face. 

"  Marse  Joe,"  he  said,  "  dey  er  gwine  ter 
ketch  Mink  dis  time." 

"  How  do  you  know?" 

"  Kaze,  soon  dis  mornin'  whiles  I  wuz  a-feed- 
in'  de  hogs,  I  seed  one  er  dem  Gaither  boys 
comin'  down  de  road  under  whip  an'  spur,  an' 
I  ax  'im  wharbouts  he  gwine,  an'  he  say  he 
gwine  atter  Bill  Locke  an'  his  nigger  dogs.  He 
'low  dat  he  know  whar  Mink  bin  las'  Friday 
night,  an'  dey  gwine  ter  put  de  dogs  on  his 
track  an'  ketch  'im.  Dey '11  be  'long  back  dis  a 
way  terreckly." 

The  lad  had  witnessed  many  a  fox-chase  and 
had  hunted  rabbits  hundreds  of  times,  not  only 
with  the  plantation  harriers  but  with  hounds; 


TRACKING   A   RUNAWAY.  35 

but  he  had  never  seen  a  runaway  negro  hunted 
down,  and  he  had  a  boy's  curiosity  in  the  matter, 
as  well  as  a  personal  interest  in  the  fate  of  Mink. 
So  he  mounted  his  horse  and  waited  for  Mr. 
Locke  and  young-  Gaither  to  return.  He  knew 
Bill  Locke  well,  having  seen  him  often  in  Hills- 
borough. Mr.  Locke  had  been  an  overseer,  but 
he  saved  money,  bought  two  or  three  negroes, 
and  had  a  little  farm  of  his  own.  He  had  a 
great  reputation  as  a  negro-hunter,  mainly  be- 
cause the  hunting  of  runaways  was  a  part  of  his 
business.  His  two  dogs,  Music  and  Sound, 
were  known  all  over  the  country,  and  they  were 
the  terror  of  the  negroes,  not  because  they  were 
fierce  or  dangerous,  but  because  of  their  sagaci- 
ty. Sound  was  a  small  brown  hound,  not  larger 
than  a  beagle,  but  he  had  such  powers  of  scent 
that  the  negroes  regarded  him  with  supersti- 
tious awe.  He  had  what  is  called  a  "  cold 
nose,"  which  is  a  short  way  of  saying  that  he 
could  follow  a  scent  thirty-six  hours  old,  and 
yet  he  was  a  very  shabby-looking  dog. 

When  Locke  and  young  Gaither  rode  by 
they  were  joined  by  Joe  Maxwell,  and  his  com- 
pany seemed  to  be  very  welcome,  especially  to 
the  Gaither  boy,  who  regarded  the  affair  as  a 


36  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

frolic.  Mr.  Locke  was  a  man  of  very  few- 
words.  His  face  was  dark  and  sallow  and  his 
eyes  sunken.  His  neck  was  long  and  thin,  and 
Joe  observed  that  his  "  Adam's  apple  "  was  un- 
usually large.  As  the  negroes  said,  Mr.  Locke 
and  his  dogs  "  favored  "  each  other.  He  was 
small  and  puny,  and  his  dogs  were  small  and 
scrawny. 

"■  Do  you  think  you'll  catch  Mink  ? "  asked 
Joe.  Mr  Locke  looked  at  the  lad  almost  pity- 
ingly, and  smiled. 

"  We'll  git  the  nigger,"  he  replied,  "  if  he's 
been  seed  sence  Friday  noon.  We'll  git  him 
if  he  ain't  took  wings.  All  I  ast  of  him  is  to 
stay  somewheres  on  top  of  the  ground,  and  he's 
mine." 

"  Why  did  the  negro  run  away  ?  "  said  Joe 
to  young  Gaither. 

"  Oh,  he  can't  get  along  with  the  overseer. 
And  I  don't  blame  him  much.  I  told  pap  this 
morning  that  if  I  had  to  choose  between  Mink 
and  Bill  Davidson  I'd  take  Mink  every  time. 
But  the  trouble  with  pap  is  he's  getting  old, 
and  thinks  he  can't  get  along  without  an  over- 
seer, and  overseers  are  mighty  hard  to  get  now. 
I  tell  you  right  now  that  when  I  get  grown  I'm 


TRACKING   A   RUNAWAY.  37 

not  going  to  let  any  overseer  bang  my  niggers 
around," 

Mr.  Locke  said  nothing,  but  Joe  heartily  in- 
dorsed young  Gaither's  sentiments. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Gaither  place,  Mr. 
Locke  asked  to  be  shown  the  house  that  Mink 
had  occupied.  Then  he  asked  for  the  blankets 
on  which  the  negro  had  slept.  These  could 
not  be  found.  Well,  an  old  coat  would  do— 
anything  that  the  negro  had  worn  or  touched. 
Finally,  a  dirty,  greasy  bag,  in  which  Mink  had 
carried  his  dinner  to  the  field,  was  found. 
This  would  do,  Mr,  Locke  said,  and,  taking  it 
in  his  hand,  he  called  his  dogs  and  held  it  to- 
ward them.  Sound  smelled  it  more  carefully 
than  Music, 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Mr.  Locke,  "  where'bouts 
was  he  seed  ?  At  the  hog-pen  last  Friday 
night?  All  right,  we'll  ride  around  there  and 
kinder  send  him  a  message." 

Joe  was  very  much  interested  in  all  this,  and 
he  watched  Mr.  Locke  and  his  dogs  very  close- 
ly. When  they  arrived  at  the  hog-pen,  the 
negro  hunter  dismounted  and  examined  the 
ground.     Then  he  spoke  to  his  dogs, 

"Sound  !  "  he  exclaimed,  sharply,  "  what  are 


38  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

you  doing  ?  Look  about. — Music !  what  are  you 
here  for? " 

The  shabby  little  dog  seemed  to  be  sud- 
denly transformed.  He  circled  around  the  hog- 
pen rapidly,  getting  farther  and  farther  away 
each  time.  Mr.  Locke  never  took  his  eyes 
from  the  dog. 

"  It's  cold — mighty  cold,"  he  said,  presently. 
Then  he  spoke  to  the  dog  again.  "  Sound ! 
come  here,  sir!  Now  git  down  to  your  knit- 
ting !  Come,  knuckle  down !  Try  'em,  old 
fellow  !  try  'em  !  " 

Thus  encouraged,  the  dog,  with  his  nose  to 
the  ground,  went  carefully  around  the  hog-pen. 
At  one  spot  he  paused,  went  on,  and  then  came 
back  to  it.  This  performance  he  repeated 
several  times,  and  then  began  to  work  his  way 
toward  an  old  field,  going  very  slowly  and  care- 
fully. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Locke,  heaving  a  sigh 
of  relief,  "  I  thought  it  was  a  gone  case,  but  the 
nigger's  been  here,  and  we've  got  him." 

"  May  be  the  dog  is  trailing  somebody  else," 
Joe  Maxwell  suggested. 

Mr.  Locke  laughed  softly  and  pityingly. 
"  Why,  I  tell  you  what,  buddy,"  he  exclaimed. 


TRACKING   A   RUNAWAY.  39 

"  if  all  the  niggers  in  the  country  had  tramped 
around  here  that  dog  wouldn't  track  none  of  'em 
but  the  special  nigger  we're  after.  Look  at 
that  puppy,  how  he's  working  !" 

And  truly  it  was  an  interesting  if  not  a  beau- 
tiful sight  to  see  the  dog  untangling  the  tangle 
of  scent.  More  than  once  he  seemed  to  be  dis- 
satisfied with  himself  and  made  little  excursions 
in  search  of  a  fresher  clew,  but  he  always  re- 
turned to  the  point  where  he  had  left  off,  taking 
up  the  faint  thread  of  scent  and  carrying  it  far- 
ther away  from  the  hog-pen.  The  patience  and 
industry  of  the  dog  were  marvelous.  Mr. 
Locke  himself  was  patient.  He  encouraged  the 
hound  with  his  voice,  but  made  no  effort  to 
urge  him  on. 

"  It's  colder  than  a  gravestone,"  said  Mr. 
Locke,  finally.  "  It's  been  a  long  time  sence 
that  nigger  stepped  around  here.  And  the 
ground's  high  and  dry.  If  we  can  work  the 
trail  to  the  branch  yonder,  he's  our  meat. — Try 
for  'im,  Sound  !     Try  for  'im." 

Gradually  the  dog  worked  out  the  problem 
of  the  trail.  Across  the  hill  he  went,  with 
many  turnings  and  twistings,  until  finally  he 
struck  into  the  path  that  led   from   the  negro 


40  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

quarters  to  the  spring-  where  the  washing  was 
done.  Down  this  path  the  hound  ran  without 
deigning  to  put  his  nose  to  the  ground.  At  the 
branch  he  lapped  his  fill  of  water,  and  then  took 
up  his  problem  again.  A  half-dozen  wash-pots 
were  scattered  around,  and  under  the  largest  a 
fire  was  smoldering.  On  a  bench,  side  by  side, 
three  tubs  were  sitting,  and  it  was  at  this  bench 
that  Sound  picked  up  the  trail  again.  Evident- 
ly Mink  had  paused  to  chat  with  the  woman 
who  was  washing.  The  ground  was  moist,  and 
the  dog  had  little  trouble.  As  he  recovered 
the  trail  he  expressed  his  gratification  by  a 
little  whimper.  The  trail  led  down  the  spring 
branch  and  into  a  plantation  road,  then  over  a 
fence  and  across  a  "  new  ground  "  until  it  struck 
a  bypath  that  led  to  an  arbor  near  a  church, 
where  the  negroes  had  been  holding  a  revival 
meeting.  At  this  point  there  was  another  prob- 
lem for  the  dog.  A  hundred  or  two  negroes 
had  been  gathered  here,  and  it  was  evident 
that  Mink  had  been  one  of  the  crowd,  min- 
gling with  the  others  and  walking  about  with 
them. 

Young  Gaither  called  Mr.  Locke's  attention 
to  this.     "  You'll  never  get  the  trail  away  from 


TRACKING   A   RUNAWAY.  4I 

here  in  the  world,"  said  he.  "  Why  don't  you 
take  the  dog  and  circle  round  with  him?" 

"  That  dog,"  said  Mr.  Locke,  watching  the 
hound  anxiously,  "  has  got  notions  of  his  own, 
and  he's  bound  to  carry  'em  out.  He  won't  be 
fooled  with.  Don't  say  nothing.  Just  stand 
off  and  watch  him.  He's  been  in  worse  places 
than  this  here." 

But  it  was  a  tedious  task  the  dog  had  before 
him.  Winding  in  and  out  in  the  mazes  of  an 
invisible  labyrinth,  turning  and  twisting,  now 
slowly,  now  more  rapidly,  he  pursued  with  un- 
erring nose  the  footsteps  of  the  runaway,  and 
when  he  had  followed  the  trail  away  from  the 
church  he  was  going  at  a  brisk  pace,  and  his 
whimper  had  changed  to  an  occasional  yelp. 
Mr.  Locke,  who  up  to  this  time  had  been  lead- 
inof  his  horse,  now  took  off  his  coat,  folded  it 
carefully,  and  laid  it  on  his  saddle.  Then  he 
remounted  his  horse,  and  with  Gaither  and  Joe 
Maxwell  trotted  along  after  his  dog. 

Mink  must  have  lingered  on  the  way,  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on  Music  joined 
Sound  in  his  work,  and  the  two  dogs  footed  it 
along  right  merrily,  their  mellow  voices  rous- 
ing a  hundred  echoes  among  the  old  red  hills. 


42  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

A  mile  farther  the  dogs  paused  at  a  tree  where 
there  were  traces  of  fire.  Scattered  around 
were  scraps  of  sweet-potato  peelings  and  bread. 

"  Here  is  where  the  gentleman  roosted  last 
night,"  said  Mr.  Locke ;  and  it  must  have  been 
true,  for  Sound,  with  his  head  in  the  air,  made 
a  half  circle,  picked  up  a  warmer  trail,  and  the 
two  dogs  were  off  like  the  wind.  Joe  Maxwell 
became  very  much  interested.  The  horse  he 
was  riding  was  swift  and  game,  and  he  drew 
away  from  the  others  easily.  Neither  ditches 
nor  gullies  were  in  his  way,  and  in  the  excite- 
ment a  six-rail  fence  seemed  to  be  no  obstacle. 
Mr.  Locke  shouted  something  at  Joe,  probably 
some  word  of  warning,  but  the  meaning  failed 
to  reach  the  lad's  ears.  Butterfly  fought  for 
his  head  and  got  it,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  carried  his  rider  out  of  hearing  of  his  com- 
panions. 

The  dogs  had  swerved  a  little  to  the  left, 
and  were  making  straight  for  the  river — the 
Oconee.  Butterfly  ran  into  a  plantation  road 
and  would  have  crossed  it,  but  Joe  held  him  to 
it,  and  soon  discovered  that  he  was  gaining  on 
the  dogs.  From  slightly  different  directions 
the  hounds  and  the  horse  seemed  to  be  making 


TRACKING  A   RUNAWAY.  43 

for  the  same  point — and  this  point,  as  it  turned 
out,  was  the  plantation  ferry,  where  a  bateau 
was  kept.  Joe  Maxwell  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill  overlooking  the  river  just  as  the  dogs 
reached  the  ferry.  Here  he  drew  rein  and 
looked  about  him.  The  hounds  ran  about  on 
the  river-bank  barking  and  howling.  Sound 
went  into  the  water,  but,  finding  that  he  was 
drifting  down  instead  of  going  across,  he  made 
his  way  out  and  shook  himself,  but  still  con- 
tinued to  bark.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  away  there 
was  a  great  bend  in  the  river.  Far  down  this 
bend  Joe  could  see  a  bateau  drifting.  As  he 
watched  it  the  thought  struck  him  that  it  did 
not  sit  as  lightly  in  the  water  as  an  empty  boat 
should.  "  Suppose,"  he  asked  himself,  with  a 
laugh — "  suppose  Mink  is  in  the  bottom  of  that 
bateau?" 

He  dismissed  the  thought  as  Mr.  Locke  and 
young  Gaither  came  up. 

"  That's  a  thundering  slick  hoss  you're  rid- 
ings," said  Mr.  Locke.  "  He'd  do  fine  work  in  a 
fox-hunt.     Where's  the  nigger?" 

"  The  dogs  can  tell  you  more  about  it  than  I 
can,"  said  Joe. 

"  Well,"  remarked  Mr.  Locke,  with  a  sigh, 


44  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

"  I  knovv'd  I'd  miss  him  if  he  ever  got  to  the 
ferry  here  and  found  the  boat  on  this  side. 
Why,  dang  his  black  skin ! "  exclaimed  the 
negro-hunter  vehemently,  as  he  glanced  down 
the  river  and  saw  the  bateau  floating  away  in 
the  distance,  "  he's  gone  and  turned  the  boat 
loose  !  That  shows  we  was  a-pushin'  'im  mighty 
close.  I  reckon  you  could  a'  seed  'im  if  you'd 
looked  clos't  when  you  first  come  up." 

"  No,"  replied  Joe  ;  "  he  was  out  of  sight, 
and  the  boat  was  drifting  around  the  elbow. 
You  were  not  more  than  five  minutes  behind 
me." 

"  Bless  your  soul,  buddy,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Locke,  "  five  minutes  is  a  mighty  long  time 
when  you  are  trying  to  ketch  a  runaway." 

So  ended  the  race  after  Mink.  To  Joe  Max- 
well it  was  both  interesting  and  instructive. 
He  was  a  great  lover  of  dogs,  and  the  wonder- 
ful performance  of  Sound  had  given  him  new 
ideas  of  their  sagacity. 

A  few  mornings  after  the  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  catch  Mink,  a  very  queer  thing  hap- 
pened. Harbert  was  sweeping  out  the  print- 
ing-office, picking  up  the  type  that  had  been 
dropped  on  the  floor,  and  Joe  was  preparing 


TRACKING  A   RUNAWAY.  45 

to   begin   the  day's  work.     Suddenly   Harbert 
spoke : 

"  Marse  Joe,"  said  he,  "  when  you  rid  out  ter 
de  river  Sunday,  is  you  happen  ter  see  er  bateau 
floatin'  'roun'  ?  " 

Joe  looked  at  Harbert  for  some  explanation 
of  the  singular  question,  but  the  negro  pre- 
tended to  be  very  busily  engaged  in  picking  up 
scraps  of  paper. 

"  Yes,"  said  Joe,  after  a  pause,  "  I  saw  a 
boat  drifting  down  the  river.     What  about  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  suh,  I  speck  ef  de  trufe  waz  ter  git 
out,  dat  dey  wuz  one  er  yo'  ole  'quaintance  in 
dat  boat,  an'  I  bet  a  thrip  dat  ef  you'd  a-hollered 
howdy,  dey'd  a-hollered  howdy  back." 

Harbert  was  still  too  busy  to  look  up. 

"  Hit  de  funniest  boat  what  I  yever  come 
'cross,"  he  went  on,  "  agwine  floatin'  long  down 
by  itse'f,  an'  den,  on  top  er  dat,  come  floatin' 
long  back  agin." 

"  How  do  you  know  about  the  bateau  ?  " 

"  Whiles  you  bin  gwine  'long  de  road,  Marse 
Joe,"  said  Harbert,  still  making  a  great  pre- 
tense of  gathering  up  the  trash  in  the  room, 
"  ain't  you  never  is  see  all  dem  little  birds  flyin' 
'mongst  de  bushes  an'  'long  de  fence?     Well, 


46 


ON   THE    PLANTATION. 


suh,  dem  little  birds  kin  tell  mo'  tales  ef  you 
listen  at  'em  right  close  dan  all  deze  yer  papers 


"  Hit  make  me  dribble  at  de  mouf." 

what  you  bin  printin'.     Dey  er  mighty  cu'us, 


TRACKING   A   RUNAWAY.  47 

an'  dey  er  mighty  cunnin'.  Dey  tole  me  lots 
mo'  dan  dat.  Dey  say  dat  de  young  Gaither 
boy  took  an'  sont  word  ter  Marse  Tom  Clem- 
mons  dat  somebody  done  gone  an'  stole  de 
bateau  at  de  ferry,  but  yit  when  Marse  Tom  go 
out  fer  ter  look  atter  his  boat  dar  she  is  right 
spang  whar  he  lef  'er.  Now,  how  you  'count 
fer  dat?" 

"  Then,  Mink—  " 

"  Coon  an'  'possum  !  "  interrupted  Harbert, 
as  Mr.  Snelson  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  'Possum  it  is !  "  exclaimed  that  genial  gen- 
tleman. "  In  season  or  out  of  season,  I'll  never 
refuse  it." 

"  Well,  suh,"  said  Harbert,  "ef  de  talk  gwine 
ter  fall  on  'possum,  I'm  bleeds  ter  go,  kase  when 
I  hear  folks  talkin'  'bout  'possum  hit  make  me 
dribble  at  de  mouf."  The  negro  went  off  laugh- 
ing loudly. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SHADOWS   OF   THE   WAR. 

What  with  the  books  in  the  library  and  the 
life  out  of  doors  in  the  afternoons,  Joe  Maxwell 
grew  very  fond  of  his  new  home.  His  work  at 
the  printers'  case  was  not  a  task,  but  a  pleasure. 
He  grew  to  be  an  expert  in  type-setting  and 
won  unstinted  praise  from  Mr.  Snelson.  Some- 
times he  wrote  little  paragraphs  of  his  own, 
crediting  them  to  "  The  Countryman's  Devil," 
and  the  editor  was  kind  enough  to  make  no 
objection,  and  this  fact  was  very  encouraging 
to  the  lad,  who  was  naturally  shy  and  sensitive. 

Only  the  echoes  of  the  war  were  heard  at 
the  Turner  place  ;  but  once  the  editor  returned 
from  Hillsborough  with  some  very  sad  news 
for  a  lady  who  lived  near  The  Countryman  ofBce 
with  her  father.  Her  husband  had  been  killed 
in  one  of  the  great  battles,  and  her  screams 
when  the  editor  told  her  of  it,  and  the  cries  of 


SHADOWS   OF    THE    WAR.  49 

her  little  daughter,  haunted  Joe  Maxwell  for 
many  a  long  day.  Sometimes  he  lay  awake  at 
night  thinking  about  it,  and  out  of  the  darkness 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  build  a  grim 
mirage  of  war,  vanishing  and  reappearing  like 
an  ominous  shadow,  and  devouring  the  people. 

The  war  was  horrible  enough,  distant  as  it 
was,  but  the  people  who  were  left  at  home — the 
women  and  children,  the  boys,  the  men  who 
were  exempt,  the  aged  and  the  infirm — had 
fears  of  a  fate  still  more  terrible.  They  were 
fears  that  grew  out  of  the  system  of  slavery, 
and  they  grew  until  they  became  a  fixed  habit 
of  the  mind.  They  were  the  fears  of  a  negro  in- 
surrection. The  whites  who  were  left  at  home 
knew  that  it  was  in  the  power  of  the  negroes  to 
rise  and  in  one  night  sweep  the  strength  and 
substance  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  from 
the  face  of  the  earth.  Some  of  the  more  igno- 
rant whites  lived  in  constant  terror. 

Once  it  was  whispered  around  that  the  blacks 
were  preparing  to  rise,  and  the  fears  of  the  peo- 
ple were  so  ready  to  confirm  the  rumor  that  the 
plantations  were  placed  in  a  state  of  siege. 
The  patrol  —  called  by  the  negroes  "patter- 
rollers" — was  doubled,  and  for  a  time  the  negro 


50  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

quarters  in  all  parts  of  the  country  were  visited 
nightly  by  the  guard.  But  Joe  Maxwell  noticed 
that  the  patrol  never  visited  the  Turner  planta- 
tion, and  he  learned  afterward  that  they  had 
been  warned  off.  The  editor  of  The  Countryman 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  his  negroes,  and 
he  would  not  allow  them  to  be  disturbed  at 
night  by  the  "patter-rollers."  He  laughed  at 
the  talk  of  a  negro  uprising,  and  it  was  a 
favorite  saying  of  his  that  the  people  who 
treated  their  negroes  right  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  them. 

As  for  Joe  Maxwell,  he  had  no  time  to  think 
about  such  things.  He  sometimes  rode  with 
the  patrol  on  their  fruitless  and  sometimes  fool- 
ish errands,  but  his  curiosity  with  regard  to 
them  was  soon  satisfied,  and  he  was  better  con- 
tented when  he  was  spending  his  evenings  at 
home  with  his  books,  or  in  listening  to  the 
wonderful  tales  that  Mr.  Snelson  told  for  his 
benefit.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  work  in 
the  little  printing-office  was  confining,  the  lad 
managed  to  live  an  outdoor  life  for  a  good  part 
of  the  time.  He  had  a  task  to  do — so  many 
thousand  ems  to  set — and  then  he  was  through 
for  the  day.     The  thoughtful  Mr.  Snelson  added 


SHADOWS   OF   THE   WAR.  5  I 

to  this  task  from  time  to  time,  but  Joe  always 
managed  to  complete  it  so  as  to  have  the  greater 
part  of  the  afternoon  for  his  own. 

There  was  a  hat-shop  on  the  plantation  pre- 
sided over  by  Mr.  Wall,  a  queer  old  man  from 
North  Carolina.  With  the  thrift  of  youth  Joe 
gave  the  amusement  of  rabbit-hunting  a  busi- 
ness turn.  In  the  fall  and  winter,  when  the 
rabbits  were  in  fur,  their  skins  could  be  sold  at 
the  hat-shop  at  twenty-five  cents  a  dozen,  and 
the  little  harriers  were  so  industrious  and  so 
well  trained  that  he  sometimes  sold  as  many 
as  three  dozen  skins  a  week.  In  addition  to 
the  pleasure  and  the  money  he  got  from  the 
sport,  he  became  very  much  interested  in  the 
hat-shop. 

The  hats  were  made  as  they  had  been  during 
the  Revolution,  and  as  they  were  no  doubt 
made  in  England  before  the  Revolution.  The 
hair  on  the  pelts  or  skins  was  scraped  off  with 
a  knife  fashioned  like  a  shoemaker's  knife.  The 
fur  was  then  cut  away  with  a  steel  blade  that 
had  no  handle.  When  there  was  enough  fur  to 
make  a  hat  it  was  placed  on  a  bench  or  counter. 
Over  the  counter  was  suspended  a  long  staff,  to 
which   was  fastened  a  bowstring.     If  the  staff 


52 


ON   THE    PLANTATION. 


1(^1     -T 


Joe  returns  from  a  rabbit  hunt. 


SHADOWS   OF    THE   WAR.  53 

had  been  bent  it  would  have  had  the  appear- 
ance of  a  huge  bow,  but  it  was  straight,  and  the 
rawhide  string  was  allowed  a  little  play.  With 
an  instrument  not  unlike  a  long  spool  the  hatter 
would  catch  the  bowstring,  pull  it  away  from 
the  staff,  and  allow  it  to  whip  against  the  fur  as 
it  sprang  back  into  place.  This  whipping  was 
carried  on  very  rapidly,  and  was  kept  up  until 
every  tuft  of  fur  was  broken  apart.  Then  the 
fur  was  whipped  gently  into  what  was  called  a 
bat,  shaped  somewhat  like  a  section  of  orange 
peel.  The  hatter  then  spread  a  cambric  cloth 
carefully  over  it,  pressed  it  down  a  little,  seized 
the  cloth  in  the  middle  between  thumb  and 
forefinger,  gave  it  a  flirt  in  the  air  and  lifted  fur 
and  all.  To  Joe  Maxwell  it  seemed  like  a  trick 
of  magic. 

The  cloth,  with  the  bat  of  fur  lying  smoothly 
and  neatly  in  its  fold,  was  then  placed  on  a 
heating  box,  and  kneaded  rapidly  but  gently. 
When  it  seemed  to  be  getting  too  hot  it  was 
sprinkled  with  water.  This  kneading  was  kept 
up  until  the  fur  shrunk  together.  When  taken 
from  the  cloth  it  was  in  the  shape  of  the  hats 
the  clowns  used  to  wear  in  the  circus,  and 
it  was  called  a  bonnet.     The  bonnet  was  then 


54  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

dipped  in  boiling  water  and  pressed  and  knead- 
ed with  an  instrument  shaped  Kke  a  rolling-pin, 
but  smaller.  The  workers  in  this  department 
were  compelled  to  protect  their  hands  from  the 
boiling  water  by  means  of  leather  fastened  to 
the  palms  of  their  hands.  The  more  the  bonnets 
were  rolled  and  kneaded,  the  more  they  shrunk, 
until  finally  they  were  ready  to  be  placed  on 
the  blocks  that  gave  them  the  hat  shape.  They 
were  fitted  to  these  blocks,  which  were  of 
various  sizes,  and  thrown  into  a  caldron  of  boil- 
ing water,  where  they  were  allowed  to  stay 
until  they  would  shrink  no  more. 

When  hats  became  scarce  after  the  breaking 
out  of  the  war,  the  editor  bought  Mr.  Wall's  in- 
terest in  the  hat-shop,  and  made  him  foreman. 
Several  negroes  were  placed  under  him,  and 
they  soon  became  experts  in  hat-making.  There 
was  a  great  demand  for  the  hats  from  all  over 
the  South,  and  on  one  occasion  Joe  Maxwell 
sold  a  dozen  wool  hats  for  $500 — in  Confederate 
money. 

But  the  most  interesting  thing  about  the 
shop,  as  Joe  thought,  was  the  head  hatter,  Miles 
Wall,  who  was  the  quaintest  old  man  that  Joe 
had   ever   seen.      He    was   illiterate — he   didn't 


SHADOWS   OF   THE   WAR.  55 

know  a  letter  in  the  book — and  yet  he  was  not 
ignorant.  The  Bible  had  been  read  to  him 
until  he  was  grounded  in  its  texts  and  teachings, 
and  he  was  always  ready  for  an  argument  on 
politics  or  religion. 


\ 

He  was  always  ready  for  an  argument. 

"  Whenever  you  hear  anybody  a-axing  any- 
thing," he  used  to  say,  "  'bout  how  I'm  a-gettin' 
on,  an'  how  my  family  is,  un'  whether  er  no  my 
health  is  well,  you  thess  up  an'  tell  um  that  I'm 
a  nachul  Baptis'.  You  thess  up  an'  tell  um  that, 
an'  I'll  be  mighty  much  erbleege  to  you.  Tell 
um  I'm  a  born'd  Baptis'." 


56  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

Although  Mr.  Wall  was  unable  to  read  or 
write,  Joe  Maxwell  found  him  to  be  a  very  in- 
teresting talker.  Perhaps  it  was  his  ignorance 
of  books  that  made  him  interesting.  He  was 
more  superstitious  than  any  of  the  negroes — a 
great  believer  in  signs  and  omens.  One  night 
when  Joe  went  to  visit  him,  the  old  man  told  a 
story  that  made  a  very  deep  impression  on  the 
lad.  There  was  nothing  in  the  story,  but  Mr. 
Wall  identified  himself  with  it,  and  told  it  in  a 
way  that  made  it  seem  real,  and  it  was  a  long 
time  before  Joe  could  divest  himself  of  the  idea 
that  the  story  was  not  true.  Wherever  Mr. 
Wall  got  it,  whether  he  dreamed  it  or  heard  it, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  he  really  believed  it. 


CHAPTER   V. 
MR.   wall's   story. 

This  is  the  way  he  told  it,  by  the  light  of  a 
pine-knot  fire  that  threw  a  wavering  and  an  un- 
certain light  over  the  little  room  : 

"I'm  monst'us  sorry  Daught  ain't  here,"  he 
began,  "  'cause  she  know'd  the  folks  thess  ez 
well  ez  I  did  ;  she's  been  thar  at  the  house  an' 
seed  um.  It  thess  come  inter  my  min'  whilst 
we  been  a-settin'  here  talkin'  'bout  ghostses  an' 
the  like  er  that.  Daught's  over  3'ander  settin' 
up  wi'  Miss  Clemmons,  an'  I  wisht  she  wuz  here. 
She  know'd  'em  all. 

"  Well,  sir,  it  wuz  in  North  Ca'liny,  right 
nex'  ter  the  Ferginny  line,  whar  we  all  cum 
frum.  They  wuz  a  fammerly  thar  by  the  name 
er  Chambliss — Tom  Chambliss  an'  his  wife — an' 
they  had  a  boy  name  John,  in  about  ez  peart  a 
chap  ez  you  ever  set  your  eyes  on.  Arter 
awhile,  Miss  Chambliss,  she  took  sick  an'  died. 


58  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

Tom,  he  moped  aroun'  right  smartually,  but 
'twan't  long  fo'  he  whirled  in  an'  married  agin. 
He  went  away  off  some'rs  for  to  get  his  wife, 
the  Lord  knows  whar,  an'  she  wuz  a  honev ! 
She  fussed  so  much  an'  went  on  so  that  Tom, 
he  took  ter  drink,  an'  he  went  from  dram  ter 
dram  tell  he  wern't  no  manner  account.  Then 
she  took  arter  John,  the  boy,  an'  she  thess  made 
that  child's  life  miserbul  a-doggin'  arter  him  all 
day  long  an'  half  the  night. 

"  One  Sunday  she  fixed  up  an'  went  ter 
church,  arter  tellin'  Johnny  for  to  stay  at  home 
an'  keep  the  chickens  outn'  the  sallid-patch. 
She  locked  the  door  of  the  house  before  she 
went  off  an'  took  the  key  wi'  'er.  It  wuz  right 
down  coolish,  but  the  sun  wuz  a-shinin'  an' 
Johnny  didn't  min'  the  cold.  Ther'  wuz  a  big 
white  oak-tree  in  the  yard,  an'  he  clum'  up  that 
an'  crope  out  on  a  lim'  an'  got  on  top  er  the 
house,  an'  sot  up  thar  astraddle  er  the  comb. 
He  wuz  a  feeling  mighty  lonesome,  an'  he 
didn't  know  what  ter  do  wi'  hisse'f  skacely. 

"  I  dunno  how  long  he  sot  thar,  but  presently 
a  great  big  acorn  dropped  on  the  roof — ker- 
bang!  It  wuz  sech  a  big  one  an'  it  fell  so,  hard 
that  it  made  Johnny  jump.     It  fell  on  the  roof 


MR.  WALL'S   STORY,  59 

'bout  half-way  betwixt  the  comb  an'  the  eaves, 
an'  when  Johnny  looked  aroun'  for  to  see  what 
made  the  fuss  he  seed  the  acorn  a-rollin'  up 
to'rds  whar  he  wuz  a-settin'.  Yes,  sir !  stedder 
rollin'  down  the  roof  an'  fallin'  off  on  the  groun', 
the  acorn  come  a-rollin'  up  the  shingles  thess 
like  it  wuz  down  grade.  Johnny  grabbed  it  ez 
it  come.  He  picked  it  up  an'  looked  at  it  good, 
an'  then  turned  it  roun'  an'  'roun'  for  to  see 
what  kinder  consarn  it  wuz  that  rolled  up  hill 
stedder  rollin'  down  hill.  While  he  wuz  a 
turnin'  the  acorn  aroun'  he  spied  a  worm  hole  in 
it,  an'  he  was  thess  about  ter  break  it  open  when 
he  heard  somebody  callin'.  It  sounded  like  his 
stepmammy  wuz  a-callin'  'im  from  a  Avay  off 
yander,  an'  he  answered  back  '  Ma'am ! '  thess 
ez  loud  as  ever  he  could,  an'  then  he  sot  still  an' 
listened.  Bimeby  he  heard  the  callin'  again, 
an'  he  answered  back :  '  Who  is  you,  an'  whar 
is  you  ? '  It  seemed  like  then  that  he  could 
hear  somebody  laughin'  at  'im  some'rs.  These 
here  sounds  sorter  put  'im  out,  an'  he  took  an' 
shot  the  acorn  down  the  roof  like  it  wuz  a 
marvel.  Yit,  before  it  could  fall  off,  it  seemed 
ter  kinder  ketch  itself,  an'  then  it  come  a-rollin' 
back  to  Johnny. 


6o  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

"  This  sorter  made  Johnny  feel  kinder  creepy. 
He  know'd  mighty  well  that  he  didn't  have  no 
loadstone  in  his  pocket,  an'  he  couldn't  make  no 
head  ner  tail  to  sech  gwine's  on.  He  picked  up 
the  acorn  an'  looked  at  it  closeter  than  ever,  an'- 
turned  it  'roun'  an'  'roun'  in  his  hand,  an'  helt  it 
right  up  to  his  eye.  Whilst  he  was  a-holdin'  it 
up  that  a-way  he  heard  a  little  bit  er  voice  ez 
fine  ez  a  cambric  needle,  an'  it  seem  like  it  wuz 
a-singin' : 

"  Ningapie,  Ningapie  ! 

Why  do  you  hoi'  me  at  your  eye  ? 

Ningapie,  Ningapee  ! 

Don't  you  know  that  you  can't  see? 

Ningapie,  Ningapeer ! 

Why  don't  you  hoi'  me  to  your  ear  ? 

"Johnny  didn't  know  whether  to  laugh  er 
cry,  but  he  helt  the  acorn  to  his  ear,  an'  he 
heard  sumpin'  er  other  on  the  inside  holler 
out : 

"  '  Why  don't  you  hold  my  house  so  I  can 
talk  out'n  my  window  ?  ' 

" '  I  don't  see  no  window,'  says  Johnny,  sort- 
er shakin'  a  little,  bekase  the  WatchermacoUum 
talked  like  it  was  mad.  '  Is  thish  here  worm- 
hole  your  window  ? ' 

" '  Tooby  shore  it  is,'  say  the  Whatshisname, 


MR.  WALL'S   STORY. 


6i 


'  it's   my   window  an'    my   front    door,   an'   my 
peazzer.' 

"  '  Why,  it  ain't  bigger  than  the  pint  of  a  pin,' 
says  Johnny. 


"  He  belt  the  acorn  to  his  ear." 

"'But  ef  it  wuzn't  big  enough,'  say  the — er 
— WatchermacoUum,  '  I'd  make  it  bigger.' 

"  '  What  is  your  name  ?  '  says  Johnny. 

" '  Ningapie.' 

" '  It's  a  mighty  funny  name,'  says  Johnny. 
'  Where  did  you  come  from  ? ' 

" '  Chuckalucker  town.' 

"  '  That's  in  the  song,'  says  Johnny. 


62  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

"  '  Me,  too,'  says  Ningapie.  '  It's  in  the  song. 
Ain't  you  never  heard  it  ? ' 

"  Ningapie  !     Ningapan  ! 
He  up  an'  killed  the  Booger  Man  ! 
Ningapie,  Ningapitch  ! 
'  He's  the  one  to  kill  a  witch.' 

"  Johnny  wuz  so  took  up  wi'  the  talkin'  an' 
the  singin'  of  the  little  feller  in  the  acorn  that 
he  didn't  hear  his  stepmammy  when  she  come, 
an'  when  he  did  hear  her  he  wuz  that  skeered 
that  he  shook  like  a  poplar-leaf. 

" '  Watch  out ! '  says  the  little  chap  in  the 
acorn.  '  Watch  out !  Be  right  still.  Don't 
move.     I  want  to  show  you  sumpin'.' 

"  *  She'll  skin  me  alive,'  says  Johnny. 

" '  Thess  wait,'  says  the  little  chap.  '  If  she 
calls  you,  keep  right  still.' 

"  Mis.  Chambliss  onlocked  the  door  an'  went 
in  the  house,  an'  slammed  things  down  like  she 
wuz  mad.  She  flung  the  tongs  down  on  the 
h'ath,  slung  the  shovel  in  a  corner,  an'  sot  a 
cheer  back  like  she  wuz  tryin'  for  to  drive  it 
thoo  the  wall.     Then  she  began  to  jaw. 

" '  I'll  get  'im  !  Me  a-tellin'  'im  to  stay  an' 
min'  the  sallid-patch,  an'  he  a-runnin'  off !  Won't 
I  make  'im  pay  for  it  ?  ' 


MR.  WALL'S   STORY.  63 

" '  That's  me,'  says  Johnny,  an'  he  talked  like 
he  wuz  mighty  nigh  ready  to  cry. 

"  '  Thess  wait !  '  says  the  little  chap  in  the 
acorn.     '  Keep  right  still ! ' 

"  Bimeby  Mis.  Chambliss  come  out'n  the 
house  an'  looked  all  aroun'.  Then  she  called 
Johnny.  She  had  a  voice  like  a  dinner-horn, 
an'  you  moughter  heard  her  a  mile  or  more. 
Johnny  he  shook  an'  shivered,  but  he  stayed 
still.  His  stepmammy  called  an'  called,  an' 
looked  ever'vvhar  for  Johnny  exceptin'  in  the 
right  place.  Then  she  went  back  in  the  house 
an'  presently  she  come  out.  She  had  a  lit- 
tle spade  in  one  hand  an'  a  little  box  in  t' 
other. 

"'Watch  her!'  says  the  little  chap  in  the 
acorn.     '  Keep  your  eye  on  her  ! ' 

"  She  went  down  in  the  gyarden  an'  walked 
along  tell  she  come  to  a  Mogul  plum-tree,  an' 
then  she  knelt  down  an'  begun  to  dig  away  at 
the  roots  of  it.  She  dug  an'  dug,  and  then  she 
put  the  box  in  the  hole  an'  covered  it  up. 

" '  Oho  ! '  says  the  little  chap  in  the  acorn. 
*  Now  you  see  whar  she  hides  her  money  an' 
your  daddy's  money.  Ever'body  thinks  your 
daddy  has  been  a-throwin'  his  money  away,  an' 


64  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

thar's  whar  it's  gone.  I've  been  a-watchin'  her 
a  long  time.' 

** '  I  ain't  botherin'  'bout  the  money,'  says 
Johnny.  '  I'm  a-thinkin'  'bout  the  frailin'  I'm 
gwine  to  git.' 

"  '  Well,'  says  the  little  chap  in  the  acorn, 
'  when  she  goes  to  the  spring  for  to  fetch  a 
bucket  of  water,  put  me  in  your  pocket  an' 
climb  down  from  here.  Then  go  up  the  road 
a  piece,  an'  there  you'll  see  a  red  cow  a-grazin'. 
Walk  right  up  to  her,  slap  her  on  the  back,  an' 
say,  "  Ningapie  wants  you."  Fetch  her  home 
an'  tell  your  stepmammy  that  a  stranger  told 
you  that  you  might  have  her  ef  you'd  go  an' 
git  her.' 

"  Shore  enough,  'twan't  long  before  Mis. 
Chambliss  come  out'n  the  house  an'  started  to 
the  spring  for  to  git  a  bucket  of  water.  She 
had  done  took  an'  pulled  off  her  Sunday-go-to- 
meetin*  duds,  an'  she  looked  mighty  scrawny  in 
her  calico  frock.  Time  she  got  out'n  sight 
Johnny  put  the  acorn  in  his  pocket  an'  scram- 
bled down  to  the  groun',  an'  then  he  split, off  up 
the  road  ez  hard  ez  ever  he  could  go.  He 
didn't  go  so  mighty  fur  before  he  seed  a  red 
cow  feedin'  by  the  side  of  the  road,  an'  she  wuz 


MR.  WALL'S   STORY.  65 

a  fine  cow,  too,  ez  fat  ez  a  butter-ball,  an'  lookin' 
like  she  mought  be  able  for  to  give  four  gallons 
of  milk  a  day  an'  leave  some  over  for  the  calf 
wharsoever  the  calf  mought  be.  When  she 
seed  Johnny  walkin'  right  to'rds  her,  she  raised 
her  head  an'  sorter  blowed  like  cow  creeturs 
will  do,  but  she  stood  stock  still  tell  Johnny 
come  up  an'  patted  her  on  the  back  an'  says : 

"  '  Ningapie  wants  you.' 

*'  Then  she  shook  her  head  an'  trotted  along 
at  Johnny's  heels,  an'  Johnny  marched  down 
the  road  a-swellin'  up  wi'  pride  tell  he  like  to 
bust  the  buttons  off'n  his  coat.  When  he  got 
home  his  stepmammy  wuz  a-stan'in'  at  the  gate 
a-waitin'  for  him  wi'  a  hickory,  but  when  she 
seed  the  cow  a-followin'  long  behine  him,  she 
took  an'  forgot  all  about  the  whippin'  she'd  laid 
up. 

"  '  Why,  Johnny  !  '  say  she,  '  whar  in  the 
wide  world  did  you  git  sech  a  be-u-tiful 
cow  ? '  " 

In  his  effort  to  mimic  a  woman's  voice,  Mr. 
Wall  screwed  up  his  mouth  and  twisted  it 
around  to  such  an  alarming  extent  that  Joe 
Maxwell  thought  for  an  instant  the  old  man  was 
going  to  have  a  spasm.     The   lad   laughed  so 


66  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

heartily  when  he  found  out  his  mistake  that  Mr. 
Wall  repeated  his  effort  at  mimicking. 

*"  Why,  Johnny,'  say  she,  '  whar  in  the  wide 
world  did  you  git  sech  a  be-u-tiful  cow  ? ' 

•'  Johnny,  he  up  an'  tol'  his  stepmammy 
what  Ningapie  tol'  'im  to  say,  an'  the  ole  'oman, 
she  wuz  e'en  about  ez  proud  ez  Johnny  wuz. 
She  patted  the  cow  on  the  back,  an'  muched 
her  up  might'ly,  an'  then  she  took  her  in  the 
lot  an'  got  ready  fer  to  milk  her,  Johnny  felt 
the  acorn  a-jumpin'  about  in  his  pocket,  an'  he 
took  it  out  an'  helt  it  up  to  his  ear. 

" '  Watch  her  when  she  goes  to  milk,'  says 
Ningapie. 

"  Johnny  dumb  the  fence  an'  waited.  Thess 
'bout  the  time  his  stepmammy  begun  fer  to 
milk  the  cow  good,  a  little  black  dog  come 
a-rushin'  'roun'  the  yard  a-barkin'  fit  to  kill. 
Time  she  heard  'im,  the  cow  give  a  jump  an' 
come  mighty  nigh  knockin'  ole  Mis.  Chambliss 
over.  Time  everything  got  quiet,  here  come  a 
big  pack  of  dogs  a-chargin'  'roun'  the  lot-palin's 
in  full  cry,  an'  it  look  like  to  Johnny  that  the 
cow  would  shorely  have  a  fit. 

"  When  night  come,"  Mr.  Wall  continued, 
throwing    another    pine -knot    into     the     fire. 


MR.  WALL'S   STORY.  6^ 

"  Johnny  got  some  milk  for  his  supper,  an' 
then  he  went  to  bed.  He  helt  the  acorn  to  his 
ear  for  to  tell  the  little  chap  good-night. 

"  '  Don't  put  me  on  the  shelf,'  says  Ningapie, 
'  an'  don't  put  me  on  the  floor.' 

"  '  Why  ?  '  says  Johnny,  in  a  whisper. 

"  '  Bekaze  the  rats  might  git  me,'  says  Nin- 
gapie. 

"  '  Well,'  says  Johnny,  '  I'll  let  you  sleep  on 
my  piller.' 

"  Some  time  in  the  night  Johnny  felt  sump'n 
run  across  the  foot  of  his  bed.  He  wuz  wide 
awake  in  a  minit,  but  he  kept  mighty  still,  be- 
kaze he  wuz  skeer'd.  Presently  he  felt  sump'n 
jump  up  on  his  bed  an'  run  across  it.  Then  it 
popped  in  his  head  about  Ningapie,  an'  he  felt 
for  the  acorn  tell  he  found  it. 

"  '  Now's  your  time,'  says  Ningapie.  "  Git 
up  an'  put  on  your  clozes  quick  an'  foller  the 
little  black  dog.' 

"Johnny  jumped  up,  an'  was  ready  in  three 
shakes  of  a  sheep's  tail,  an'  he  could  hear  the 
little  black  dog  a-caperin'  aroun'  on  the  floor. 
When  he  started,  he  took  the  acorn  in  his  han'. 
The  door  opened  to  let  him  out,  an'  shot  itse'f 
when  he  got  out,  an'  then  the  little  black  dog 


68  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

went  trottin'  down  the  big  road.  It  wuz  dark, 
but  the  stars  wuz  a-shinin',  an'  Johnny  could  tell 
by  the  ell-an'-yard  "  (the  constellation  of  Orion) 
"  that  it  wuz  nigh  midnight. 

"  They  hadn't  gone  fur  before  they  come  to 
a  big  white  hoss  a-standin'  in  the  road,  chompin' 
his  bit  an'  pawin'  the  groun'. 

" '  Mount  the  hoss,'  says  Ningapie. 

"  Johnny  jumped  on  his  back,  an'  the  hoss 
went  canterin'  down  the  road.  'Twan't  long 
'fore  Johnny  seed  a  light  shinin'  in  the  road,  an' 
when  he  got  a  little  nigher  he  seed  it  was  right 
in  the  middle  of  the  cross  roads.  A  fire  was 
a-blazin'  up  thar,  an'  who  should  be  a-feedin'  of 
it  but  his  stepmammy  ?  Her  hair  wuz  a-hangin' 
down,  an'  she  looked  like  ole  Nick  hisse'f.  She 
wuz  a-walkin'  'roun'  the  blaze,  a-mumblin'  some 
kinder  talk,  an'  a-makin'  motions  wi'  her  ban's, 
an'  thar  wuz  a  great  big  black  cat  a-walkin' 
'roun'  wi'  her,  an'  a-rubbin'  up  agin  her,  and 
the  creetur's  tail  wuz  swelled  up  out'n  all 
reason. 

"  '  Watch  out,  now,'  says  Ningapie,  '  an'  hold 
on  to  your  hoss.' 

"  He  hadn't  more'n  spoke  the  words  before  a 
pack  of  dogs  broke  out  of  the  woods  an'  made 


MR.  WALL'S   STORY.  69 

right  for  the  ole  'oman,  an'  Johnny's  hoss  a-fol- 
lerin'  'em.  Thar  wuz  a  monst'us  scatteration  of 
chunks  an'  fire-coals,  an'  then  it  looked  like 
'oman,  dogs,  an'  all  riz  up  in  the  elements,  an' 
thar  wuz  sech  another  yowlin'  an'  howlin'  an' 
growlin'  ez  ain't  never  been  heard  in  them  parts 
before  nor  sence. 

"  When  Johnny  got  back  home  he  found  his 
pappy  a-waitin'  for  him,  an'  he  looked  like  a  new 
man.  Then  they  went  down  into  the  gyarden, 
an'  thar  they  foun'  a  pile  of  gold  packed  up  in 
little  boxes.  Ez  for  the  ole  'oman,  she  never 
did  come  back.  She  wuz  a  witch,  an'  Ningapie 
unwitched  her." 

"  And  what  become  of  the  acorn  ?  "  asked 
Joe  Maxwell. 

"  Ah,  Lord  !  "  said  Mr.  Wall,  with  a  sigh, 
"you  know  how  boys  is.  Like  ez  not,  Johnny 
took  an'  cracked  it  open  wi'  a  hammer  for  to 
see  what  kind  of  a  creetur  Ningapie  wuz." 


CHAPTER   VI. 
THE   OWL   AND    THE   BIRDS. 

The  Gaither  boy  grew  to  be  very  friendly 
with  Joe  Maxwell,  and  he  turned  out  to  be  a 
very  pleasant  companion.  He  was  fifteen  years 
old,  but  looked  younger,  and  although  he  had 
no  book-learning,  he  was  very  intelligent,  hav- 
ing picked  up  a  great  deal  of  the  wholesome 
knowledge  that  Nature  keeps  in  store  for  those 
who  make  her  acquaintance.  He  could  read  a 
little,  and  he  could  write  his  name,  which  he 
took  great  pride  in  doing,  using  a  stick  for  a 
pen  and  a  bed  of  sand  for  a  copy-book.  Walk- 
ing along  through  the  fields  or  woods,  he  would 
pause  wherever  the  rains  had  washed  the  sand 
together,  and  write  his  name  in  full  in  letters 
that  seemed  to  be  wrestling  with  each  other — 
"  James  K.  Polk  Gaither."  As  there  was  an- 
other James  in  his  family,  he  was  called  Jim- 
Polk  Gaither. 


•    THE   OWL   AND   THE    BIRDS.  'Jl 

His  friendship  was  worth  a  great  deal  to  Joe 
Maxwell,  for  there  was  not  a  bird  in  the  woods 
nor  a  tree  that  he  did  not  know  the  name  of 
and  something  of  its  peculiarities,  and  he  was 
familiar  with  every  road  and  bypath  in  all  the 
country  around.  He  knew  where  the  wild 
strawberries  grew,  and  the  chincapins  and 
chestnuts,  and  where  the  muscadines,  or,  as 
he  called  them,  the  "bullaces,"  were  ripest. 
The  birds  could  not  hide  their  nests  from  him, 
nor  the  wild  creatures  escape  him.  He  had  a 
tame  buzzard  that  sometimes  followed  him  about 
in  his  rambles.  He  set  traps  for  flying  squirrels, 
and  tamed  them  as  soon  as  his  hands  touched 
them.  He  handled  snakes  fearlessly,  and  his 
feats  with  them  were  astounding  to  the  town 
lad  until  Joe  discovered  that  the  serpents  were 
not  of  the  poisonous  species.  In  handling  high- 
land moccasins  and  spreading  adders,  Jim-Polk 
confined  his  feats  to  seizing  them  by  their 
tails  as  they  ran  and  snapping  their  heads  off. 
Whenever  he  killed  one  in  this  way  he  always 
hung  it  on  a  bush  or  tree  in  order,  as  he  said, 
to  bring  rain.  When  it  failed  to  rain,  his  ex- 
planation was  that  as  a  snake  never  dies  until 
sundown,  no  matter  how  early  in  the  morning 


72  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

it  may  be  killed,  it  had  twisted  and  writhed 
until  it  fell  from  the  limb  or  bush  on  which  it 
was  hung. 

Jim-Polk  had  many  gifts  and  acquirements 
that  interested  Joe  Maxwell.  Once  when  the 
two  lads  were  walking  through  the  woods  they 
saw  a  pair  of  hawks  some  distance  away.  Jim- 
Polk  motioned  to  Joe  to  hide  under  a  hawthorn 
bush.  Then,  doubling  his  handkerchief  before 
his  mouth,  he  began  to  make  a  curious  noiSe — a 
series  of  smothered  exclamations  that  sounded 
like  hoo  ! — hoo  ! — hoo-hoo  !  He  was  imitating 
the  cry  of  the  swamp  owl,  which  Joe  Maxwell 
had  never  heard.  The  imitation  must  have 
been  perfect,  for  immediately  there  was  a  great 
commotion  in  the  woods.  The  smaller  birds 
fluttered  away  and  disappeared  ;  but  the  two 
hawks,  re-enforced  by  a  third,  came  flying  to- 
ward the  noise  with  their  feathers  ruffled  and 
screaming  with  indignation.  They  meant  war. 
Jim -Polk  continued  his  muffled  cries,  until 
presently  the  boys  heard  a  crow  cawing  in  the 
distance. 

"  Now  you'll  see  fun,"  said  young  Gaither. 
"  Just  keep  right  still." 

The  crow   was  flying  high   in   the  air,   and 


THE   OWL   AND   THE    BIRDS.  73 

would  have  gone  over  but  the  muffled  cry  of 
the  owl — hoo  !  hoo  !  hoo  !  hoo  ! — caught  its  ear 
and  it  paused  in  its  flight,  alighting  in  the  top 
of  a  tall  pine.  Swinging  in  this  airy  outlook,  it 
sent  forth  its  hoarse  signals,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes the  pine  was  black  with  its  companions,  all 
making  a  tremendous  outcry.  Some  of  them 
dropped  down  into  the  tops  of  the  scrub-oaks. 
They  could  not  find  the  owl,  but  they  caught 
sight  of  the  hawks,  and  sounded  their  war-cry. 
Such  cawing,  screaming,  fluttering,  and  fight- 
ing Joe  Maxwell  had  never  seen  before.  The 
hawks  escaped  from  the  crows,  but  they  left 
many  of  their  feathers  on  the  battle-field.  One 
of  the  hawks  did  not  wholly  escape,  for  in  his 
fright  he  flew  out  of  the  woods  into  the  open, 
and  there  he  was  pounced  on  by  a  kingbird, 
which  Jim-Polk  called  a  bee  martin.  This  little 
bird,  not  larger  than  his  cousin,  the  catbird,  lit 
on  the  hawk's  back  and  stayed  there  as  long  as 
they  remained  in  sight.  The  commotion  set  up 
by  the  crows  had  attracted  the  attention  of  all 
the  birds,  except  the  smallest,  and  they  flew 
about  in  the  trees,  uttering  notes  of  anger  or 
alarm,  all  trying  to  find  the  owl. 

The   incident   was   very  interesting  to   Joe 


74  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

Maxwell,  He  discovered  that  the  owl  is  the 
winged  Ishmael  of  the  woods,  the  most  hated 
and  most  feared  of  all  the  birds.  A  few  days 
afterward  he  went  with  Harbert  to  see  the 
hogs  fed,  and  he  told  the  negro  how  all  the 
birds  seemed  to  hate  the  owl. 

"  Lord !  yes,  sah  !  "  said  Harbert,  who  seemed 
to  know  all  about  the  matter.  "  Ain't  ypu  never 
is  hear  tell  er  de  tale  'bout  de  owl  an'  de  yuther 
birds?  Ole  man  Remus  tole  it  ter  me  dis 
many  a  year  ago,  an'  sence  den  I  bin  hear  talk 
about  it  mo'  times  dan  what  I  got  fingers  an' 
toes." 

Of  course,  Joe  wanted  to  hear — 

THE    STORY   OF   THE    OWL. 

"  Well,  suh,"  said  Harbert,  "  hit  run  sorter 
like  dis  :  One  time  way  back  yander,  fo'  ole  man 
Remus  wuz  born'd,  I  speck,  all  de  birds  wuz  in 
cahoots ;  dem  what  fly  in  de  air,  an'  dem  what 
walk  on  de  groun',  an'  dem  what  swim  on  de 
water — all  un  um.  Dey  all  live  in  one  settle- 
ment, an'  whatsomever  dey  mought  pick  up 
endurin'  er  de  day,  dey'd  fetch  it  ter  der  place 
wharbouts  dey  live  at,  an'  put  it  wid  de  rest 
what  de  yuther  ones  bin  a-ketchin'  an'  a-fetchin'. 


THE   OWL   AND    THE   BIRDS.  75 

Dey  kep'  on  dis  away,  twel,  twant  long  fo'  dey 
done  save  up  a  right  smart  pile  er  fust  one 
thing  an'  den  anudder.  De  pile  got  so  big  dat 
dey  'gun  ter  git  skeered  dat  some  un  'ud  come 
'long  whilst  dey  wus  away  an'  he'p  derse'f. 
Bimeby  some  er  de  mo'  'spicious  'mong  um  up 
an'  say  dat  somebody  bin  stealin'  fum  de  pro- 
vision what  dey  savin'  up  ginst  hard  times.  Mr. 
Jaybird,  he  coyspon'  wid  Mr.  Crow,  an'  Mr. 
Crow  he  coyspon'  wid  Miss  Chicken  Hawk, 
and  Miss  Chicken  Hawk  she  coyspon'  wid  Mr. 
Eagle,  which  he  was  de  big  buckra  er  all  de 
birds.  An'  den  dey  all  coyspon'  wid  one 
anudder,  an'  dey  'low  dat  dey  bleeze  ter  lef 
somebody  dar  fer  ter  watch  der  winter  wittles 
whiles  dey  er  off  a-huntin'  up  mo'.  Dey  jowered 
an'  jowered  a  long  time,  twel,  bimeby,  Mr. 
Eagle,  he  up  an'  say  dat  de  bes'  dey  kin  do  is  to 
'pint  Mr.  Owl  fer  ter  keep  watch.  Mr.  Owl  he 
sorter  hoot  at  dis,  but  'tain't  do  no  good,  kaze 
de  yuthers,  dey  say  dat  all  Mr.  Owl  got  ter  do 
is  ter  sleep  mo'  endurin'  er  de  night  an'  stay 
'wake  endurin'  er  de  day. 

"  So,  den,"  Harbert  went  on,  pausing  as  if 
trying  to  remember  the  thread  of  the  story, 
"  dey  'pinted  Mr.  Owl  fer  ter  keep  watch,  an' 


7^  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

dey  all  flewd  off,  some  one  way  an'  some  anud- 
der.  Mr.  Owl,  he  tuck  his  seat,  he  did,  whar 
he  kin  take  in  a  right  smart  stretch  er  country 
wid  his  big  eyeball,  an'  he  sot  dar  right  peart. 
But  bimeby  he  'gun  ter  git  lonesome.  Dey 
want  nobody  ter  talk  ter,  an'  de  sun  shine  so 
bright  dat  he  bleeze  ter  shet  his  eye,  an'  'fo'  he 
know  what  he  doin'  he  wuz  a  settin'  dar  noddin' 
same  ez  a  nigger  by  a  hick'ry  fire.  Every  once 
in  a  while  he'd  ketch  hissef  an'  try  ter  keep 
'wake,  but,  do  what  he  would,  he  can't  keep  his 
eye  open,  an'  bimeby  he  snap  his  mouf  like 
he  mad  an'  den  he  slapped  his  head  under  his 
wing  an'  dropped  off  ter  sleep  good  fashion. 
Kaze  when  a  bird  git  his  head  under  his  wing 
hit's  des  de  same  ez  gwine  ter  bed  an'  pullin'  de 
kiver  'roun'  yo'  years. 

"  Well,  suh,  dar  he  wuz,  settin'  up  fast  asleep. 
'Long  in  de  co'se  er  de  day,  Mr.  Crow  an'  Mr. 
Jaybird,  dey  struck  up  wid  one  annuder  out  in 
de  woods,  an'  dey  sot  down  in  a  popular-tree 
fer  to  carry  on  a  confab.  Dey  done  bin  coy- 
spon'  wid  one  anudder  an'  dey  bofe  bin  pullin' 
up  corn.  Mr.  Crow  'low  ter  Mr.  Jaybird  dat  he 
ain't  so  mighty  certain  an'  shore  'bout  Mr.  Owl, 
kaze   he  mighty  sleepy-headed.     Wid  dat,  Mr. 


THE   OWL   AND   THE   BIRDS.  "JJ 

Jaybird,  he  up  an'  say  dat  he  got  dat  ve'y  idee 
in  his  min'.  Dey  sot  dar  an'  swop  talk  'bout  Mr. 
Owl,  twel,  atter  while,  dey  'gree  ter  go  back  fer 
de  settlement  an'  see  what  Mr.  Owl  doin'. 

"  Well,  suh,  dey  went  dar,  an'  dar  dey  foun' 
'im.  Yasser!  Mr.  Owl  sholy  wuz  dar.  He 
wuz  settin'  up  on  a  lim'  wid  his  head  flung 
under  his  wing,  an'  'twuz  all  dey  kin  do  fer  ter 
wake  'im  up.  Dey  hollered  at  'im  des  loud  ez 
dey  kin,  an'  bimeby  he  woke  up  an'  tuck  his 
head  out  from  under  his  wing  an'  look  at  um 
des  ez  solium  ez  a  camp-meetin'  preacher.  Dey 
'buze  'im — dey  quoiled — dey  call  'im  out'n  his 
name — dey  jowered  at  'im — but  tain't  do  no 
good.  He  des  sot  dar,  he  did,  an'  look  at  um, 
an'  he  ain't  say  nuthin'  'tall.  Dis  make  Mr.  Crow 
an'  Mr.  Jaybird  mighty  mad,  kaze  when  folks 
quoil  an'  can't  git  nobody  for  ter  quoil  back  at 
um,  it  make  um  wusser  mad  dan  what  dey  wuz 
at  fust.  Dat  night  when  de  yuther  birds  come 
home,  Mr.  Crow  an'  Mr.  Jaybird,  dey  had  a 
mighty  tale  ter  tell.  Some  b'lieved  um  an'  some 
didn't  b'lieve  um.  Miss  Jenny  Wren,  an'  Mr. 
Jack  Sparrow,  an'  Miss  Cat  Bird,  dey  b'lieved 
um,  an'  dey  went  on  so  twel  de  yuther  birds 
can't  hear  der  own  years,  skacely.     But  de  big 


78 


ON    THE    PLANTATION. 


birds,  dey  sorter  helt  off,  an'  say  dey  gwine  ter 
give  Mr.  Owl  anudder  chance. 

"  Well,  suh,  dey  give  Mr.  Owl  two  mo'  trials, 
let  alone  one,  an'  eve'y  time  dey  lef  'im  dar  fer 
ter  watch  an'  gyard,  dey'd  fin'  'im  fast  asleep. 


"  He  des  sot  dar,  he  did,  an'  look  at  um." 

An'  dat  ain't  all ;  dey  skivered  dat  somebody 
done  bin  slippin'  in  an'  totin'  off  der  provisions. 
Dat  settle  de  hash  fer  Mr.  Owl.  De  birds  sot  a 
day  an'  fotch  Mr.  Owl  up  fer  ter  stan'  trial,  an' 
dey  laid  down  de  law  dat  fum  dat  time  forrud 
dat  Mr.  Owl  shan't  go  wad  de  yuther  birds,  an* 


THE   OWL   AND   THE   BIRDS.  79 

dat  de  nex'  time  dey  kotch  'im  out  de  word  wuz 
ter  be  give,  an'  dey  wuz  all  ter  fall  foul  un  'im 
an'  frail  'm  out.  Den  dey  say  dat  when  he  sleep 
he  got  ter  sleep  wid  bofe  eyes  wide  open,  a'n 
dey  lay  it  down  dat  he  got  ter  keep  watch  all 
night  long,  an'  dat  whensomever  he  hear  any 
fuss  he  got  ter  holler  out : 

"  '  Who — who — who  pesterin'  we  all  ? ' 
"  Dat  de  way  de  law  Stan's,"  continued  Har- 
bert,  placing  his  basket  of  corn  on  the  top  rail 
of  the  fence,  "  an  dat  de  way  it  gwine  ter  stan'. 
Down  ter  dis  day,  when  Mr.  Owl  asleep,  he 
sleep  wid  his  eye  wide  open,  an'  when  de 
yuther  birds  ketch  him  out,  dey  light  on  to  'im 
like  folks  puttin'  out  fire,  an'  when  he  ups  an' 
hollers  in  de  night-time,  you  kin  hear  'im  say : 
" '  Who — who — who  pesterin'  we  all  ?  '  " 
With  a  laugh,  in  which  Joe  Maxwell  heartily 
joined,  Harbert  turned  his  attention  to  calling 
his  hogs,  and  the  way  he  did  this  was  as  inter- 
esting to  Joe  as  the  story  had  been.  He  had  a 
voice  of  wonderful  strength  and  power,  as  pene- 
trating and  as  melodious  as  the  notes  of  a 
cornet.  On  a  still  day,  when  there  was  a  little 
moisture  in  the  air,  Harbert  could  make  him- 
self  heard  two  miles.     The  range   over  which 


8o  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

the  hogs  roamed  was  at  least  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  pen.  In  calling  them  the  negro  broke 
into  a  song.  It  was  only  the  refrain  that  the 
distant  hogs  could  hear,  but  as  it  went  echoing 
over  the  hills  and  valleys  it  seemed  to  Joe  to  be 
the  very  essence  of  melody.  The  song  was 
something  like  this  : 

HOG-FEEDER'S   SONG. 
Oh,  rise  up,  my  ladies,  lissen  unter  me, 
Gwoop  !     Gwoop  !     Gee-woop  !     Goo-whee  ! 
I'm  a-gwine  dis  night  fer  ter  knock  along  er  you. 
Gwoop  !     Gwoop  !     Gee-woop  !     Goo-whoo  ! 
Pig-goo  !     Pig-gee  '     Gee-o-whee  ! 

Oh,  de  stars  look  bright  des  like  dey  gwineter  fall. 
En  'way  todes  sundown  you  hear  de  killdee  call : 
Stee-wee !     Killdee !     Pig-goo  !     Pig-gee  ! 
Pig!     Pig!     Pig-goo!     Pig!     Pig!     Pig-gee! 

De  blue  barrer  squeal  kaze  he  can't  squeeze  froo. 

En  he  hump  up  he  back,  des  like  niggers  do 

Oh,  humpty-umpty  blue  !     Pig-gee  !     Pig-goo  ! 
Pig!     Pig!     Pig-gee!     Pig!     Pig!     Pig-goof' 

Oh,  rise  up,  my  ladies  !     Lissen  unter  me  ! 
Gwoop  !     Gvvoopee  !     Gee-woop  !     Goo-whee ! 
I'm  a-gwine  dis  night  a  gallantin'  out  wid  you  ! 
Gwoop  !     Gwoopee  !     Gee-woop  !     Goo-hoo  ! 
Pig-goo  !     Pig-gee  !     Gee-o-whee  ! 

Ole  sow  got  sense  des  ez  sho's  youer  bo'n 
'Kaze  she  tak'n  hunch  de  baskit  fer  ter  shatter  out  co'n— 
Ma'am,  you  makes  too  free  !     Pig-goo  !     Pig-gee  ! 
Pig!     Pig!     Pig-goo!     Pig!     Pig!     Pig-gee! 


THE   OWL   AND   THE    BIRDS.  51 

Wen  de  pig  git  fat  he  better  stay  close, 
'Kaze  fat  pig  nice  fer  ter  hide  out  en'  roas' — 
En  he  taste  mighty  good  in  de  barbecue  ! 
Oh,  roas'  pig,  shoo  !     'N-yuin  !  dat  barbecue  ! 
Pig !     Pig  I     Pig-gee  !     Pig !     Pig  !     Pig-goo  ! 

Oh,  rise  up,  my  ladies  !     Lissen  unter  me : 
Gwoop  !     Gvvoopee !     Gee-woop  !     Goo-whee ! 
I'm  a-gwine  dis  night  fer  ter  knock  aroun'  wid  you  ! 
Gwoop  !     Gwoopee  !     Gee-woop  !     Goo-whoo  ! 
Pig-goo  !     Pig-gee  !     Gee-o-whee  ! 

"  Marse  Joe,"  said  Harbert,  after  he  had 
counted  the  hogs  to  see  that  none  were  missing, 
"  I  got  surapin'  at  my  house  fer  you.  I'm  layin' 
off  fer  ter  fetch  it  dis  ve'y  night." 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Tain't  much,"  said  Harbert.  "  Des  some 
'simmon  beer  an'  some  ginger-cake." 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Joe. 

"  Oh,  'tain't  me,"  said  Harbert,  quickly.  "  I 
was  puttin'  up  de  carriage-horses  las'  night 
when  I  hear  somebody  callin'  me,  an'  I  went 
ter  de  fence,  an'  dar  wuz  a  nigger  'oman  wid  a 
jug  in  one  han'  an'  a  bundle  in  de  udder,  an'  she 
say  dar  wuz  some  'simmon  beer  an'  some  ginger- 
cakes,  an'  she  up  an'  ax  me  would  I  be  so  com- 
pleasant  fer  to  give  um  ter  Marse  Joe  Maxwell, 
an'  I  'lowed  dat  I'd  be  so  compleasant." 


82  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

"  Who  was  the  woman  ?  "  Joe  asked. 

"  She  some  kin  ter  Mink,"  answered  Har- 
bert,  evasively. 

"  Well,  what  kin  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  She  ain't  so  mighty  much  kin,  needer,"  said 
Harbert.  "  She  des  his  wafe.  She  'low  dat  ef 
you  got  any  washin'  er  darnin'  dat  you  w^ant 
done  she  be  glad  ter  do  it,  an'  den  I  say, 
'  Shoo  nigger  'oman !  G'way  fum  here  !  What 
you  speck  my  wife  here  fer?'" 

Here  Harbert  tried  to  look  indignant,  but 
failed.     Presently  he  continued  : 

"  Dat  are  'simmon  beer  got  sign  in  it." 

"  What  sign  is  that?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Well,  suh,  when  'simmonses  is  ripe  hit's  a 
shore  sign  dat  'possum  ready  ter  eat,  an'  tain't 
gwine  ter  be  long  'fo'  you  hear  me  a-hollerin' 
'roun'  thoo  de  woods,  mo'  speshually  if  1  kin  git 
holt  er  dem  dogs  what  dat  Gaither  boy  got. 
When  it  come  ter  'possum  an'  coon  dey  er  de 
outdoin'est  dogs  you  ever  is  lay  yo'  eyes  on." 

"  I  can  get  the  dogs  any  time,"  said  Joe. 

"  Well,  suh,"  said  Harbert  with  enthusiasm, 
"atter  to-night  you  can't  git  um  too  soon." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

OLD  ZIP  COON. 

JiM-PoLK  Gaither  was  very  glad  to  go 
hunting  with  Joe  Maxwell,  having  taken  a 
strong  boyish  liking  to  the  lad,  and  so  one  Sat- 
urday evening  he  came  over  to  the  Turner 
place  with  his  dogs.  Jolly  and  Loud.  They 
were  large,  fine-looking  hounds,  and  Joe  exam- 
ined them  with  interest.  Their  color  was  black 
and  tan,  and  each  had  two  little  yellow  spots 
over  his  eyes.  Loud  was  the  heavier  of  the 
two,  and  Jim-Polk  explained  that  he  had  "  the 
best  nose"  and  the  best  voice,  and  yet  he  de- 
clared that  in  some  respects  Jolly  was  the  best 
dog. 

Harbert  had  already  prepared  for  the  hunt, 
and  he  soon  made  his  appearance  with  an 
axe  and  a  bundle  of  fat  twine  to  be  used  for 
torches. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Jim-Polk,  "  what  kind  of 


84 


ON   THE    PLANTATION. 


game  do  you  want  ?  Shall  it  be  'possum  or 
coon  ?  " 

"  Dat's  for  Marse  Joe  to  say,"  said  Harbert. 

"  These  are  mighty  funny  dogs,"  explained 
Jim-Polk.  "  If  you  start  out  wi'  a  light,  they'll 
hunt  'possums  all  night  long.  If  you  go  into 
the  woods  an'  fetch  a  whoop  or  two  before  you 
strike  a  light,  they  won't  notice  no  'possum  ;  but 


Old  Zip  Coon. 

you  better  believe  they'll  make  old  Zip  Coon 
lift  hisself  off'n  the  ground.  So  whichever  you 
want  you'll  have  to  start  out  right." 

"  'Possum  mighty  good,"  said  Harbert,  see- 
ing Joe  hesitate. 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  85 

"  Lots  of  fun  in  runnin'  a  coon,"  said  Jim- 
Polk. 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  "  let's  start  without  a 
light." 

"  Dat  settles  it,"  exclaimed  Harbert,  with  a 
good-humored  grimace.  "  I  done  bin  hunt  wid 
deze  dogs  befo'." 

"  You  must  have  stole  'em  out,"  said  Jim- 
Polk. 

"  No,  suh,"  replied  Harbert,  "  I  went  wid 
Mink." 

"  I  wish  to  goodness,"  exclaimed  Jim-Polk, 
"  that  Mink  was  at  home.  Pap,  he  sides  with 
the  overseer,  but  when  I  get  a  little  bigger  Pm 
a-goin'  to  whirl  in  and  give  that  overseer  a  frail- 
in',  if  it's  the  last  act." 

"  Now  you  talkin' !  "  said  Harbert,  with  em- 
phasis. 

It  was  some  time  before  they  got  free  of  the 
pasture-land,  and  then  they  went  by  Mr.  Snel- 
son's,  so  that  Joe  might  change  his  clothes  for  a 
rougher  suit.  That  genial  gentleman  was  very 
much  interested  in  the  hunt,  and  he  finally  per- 
suaded himself  to  go. 

"  ril  go,"  said  he,  "  joost  to  perfect  the  lads. 
It's  a  fine  mess  I'm  after  gettin'  into,  and  it's  all 
1 


86  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

on  account  of  me  good  feelin's.  They'll  be  the 
death  of  me  some  day,  and  thin  a  fine  man'U  be 
gone  wit'  nobuddy  to  take  his  place." 

Mr.  Snelson  was  so  enthusiastic  that  he 
wanted  to  lead  the  way,  but  after  he  had  fallen 
over  a  stump  and  rushed  headlong  into  a  brush- 
heap,  he  was  content  to  give  the  lead  to  Har- 
bert. 

Jim-Polk,  who  was  bringing  up  the  rear  with 
Joe  Maxwell,  gave  the  latter  to  understand  that 
even  if  they  didn't  catch  a  coon,  they'd  have  a 
good  deal  of  fun  with  the  genial  printer. 

"  We'll  have  fun  with  him,"  said  Jim-Polk, 
"  if  we  don't  have  to  tote  him  home." 

Mr.  Snelson  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  con- 
versation, which  was  only  interrupted  when  he 
stepped  into  a  hole  or  a  ditch. 

"  I've  often  read  of  chasing  the  raccoon,"  he 
said,  "  but  it  never  occurred  to  me  mind  it  was 
anything  approachin'  this.  You're  right  sure 
it's  the  regular  thing  ?  " 

"  You'll  'think  so  before  you  get  back 
home,"  remarked  Jim -Polk.  Harbert,  know- 
ing what  these  words  really  meant,  laughed 
loudly. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  genial  printer, "  if  it's 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  87 

all  a  joke,  I'd  as  well  turn  in  me  tracks  and  go 
home." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  exclaimed  Jim-Polk.  "  Don't  go 
home.  If  you  think  it's  a  joke  when  we  get 
through  with  it,  you  may  have  my  hat." 

"  Dat's  so,"  cried  Harbert.  "  Dat's  so,  sho  ! 
An'  ef  he  wuz  ter  git  de  hat,  I  speck  I'd  ha'  ter 
he'p  'm  tote  it.     Yasser  !     Dat  what  I  speck." 

The  enthusiastic  Mr.  Snelson  and  Harbert 
were  ahead,  and  Joe  Maxwell  and  Jim-Polk 
brought  up  the  rear. 

"  I  hope  my  dogs'U  behave  their  selves  to- 
night," said  young  Gaither.  "  You  went  on  so 
about  Bill  Locke's  nigger  dogs  that  I  want  you 
to  hear  Jolly  and  Loud  when  they  get  their 
bristles  up.  But  they're  mighty  quare.  If 
Loud  strikes  a  trail  first,  Jolly  will  begin  to 
pout.  1  call  it  poutin'.  He'll  run  along  with 
Loud,  but  he  won't  open  his  mouth  until  the 
scent  gets  hot  enough  to  make  him  forget  him- 
self. If  it's  a  'possum,  he'll  let  old  Loud  do  all 
the  trailin'  and  the  treein'.  You'd  think  there 
was  only  one  dog,  but  when  you  get  to  the  tree 
you'll  find  Jolly  settin'  there  just  as  natchul  as 
life." 

The  hunters  had  now  come  to  the  lands  bor- 


88  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

dering  on  Rocky  Creek,  and,  even  while  Jim- 
Polk  was  speaking,  the  voice  of  a  dog  was 
heard.  Then  it  was  twice  repeated — a  mellow, 
far-reaching,  inspiring  sound,  that  caused  every 
nerve  in  Joe  Maxwell's  body  to  tingle. 

"  Shucks  ! "  exclaimed  Jim-Polk,  in  a  dis- 
gusted tone.  "  It's  old  Loud,  and  we  won't 
hear  from  Jolly  till  the  coon's  track  is  hot 
enough  to  raise  a  blister." 

Again  Loud  opened,  and  again,  and  always 
with  increasing  spirit,  and  his  voice,  borne  over 
the  woods  and  fields  on  the  night  winds,  was 
most  musical. 

"  Oh,  my  goodness  !  "  cried  Jim-Polk  ;  "  if  I 
had  Jolly  here,  I'd  kill  him.  No,  I  wouldn't, 
neither  !  "  he  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "  Just  lis- 
ten !  he's  a-puttin'  in  now  !  "  With  that  he  gave 
a  yell  that  fairly  woke  the  echoes  and  caused 
Mr.  Snelson  to  jump. 

"  Upon  me  soul ! "  said  that  worthy  gentle- 
man, ''  ye'U  never  die  wit'  consumption.  In  me 
books  I've  read  of  them  that  made  the  welkin 
ring,  but  I've  never  heard  it  rung  before." 

"Shucks!"  said  Jim-Polk;  "wait  till  Har- 
bert  there  gets  stirred  up." 

It  was  true  that  Jolly,  as  Jim-Polk  expressed 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  89 

it,  had  "put  in."  The  scent  was  warm  enough 
to  cure  his  sulkiness.  Running  in  harmony  and 
giving  mouth  alternately,  and  sometimes  to- 
gether, the  music  the  two  dogs  made  was  irre- 
sistibly inspiring,  and  when  Harbert  at  intervals 
lifted  up  his  voice  to  cheer  them  on  even  Mr. 
Snelson  glowed  with  excitement  and  enthu- 
siasm. 

"  Now,  then,  Harbert,"  said  Jim-Polk,  "  you 
can  light  your  carriage-lamps,  and  by  that  time 
we'll  know  which  way  we've  got  to  trot." 

The  torches  were  soon  lit,  one  for  Jim-Polk 
and  one  for  Harbert,  and  then  they  paused  to 
listen  to  the  dogs. 

"  That  coon  has  been  caught  out  from  home," 
said  Jim-Polk,  after  a  pause.  "  The  dogs  are 
between  him  and  his  hollow  tree.  He's  makin' 
for  that  dreen  in  pap's  ten-acre  field.  There's  a 
pond  there,  and  old  Zip  has  gone  there  after  a 
bait  of  frogs.  Just  wait  till  they  turn  his  head 
this  way." 

"  Tut,  tut,  young  man  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Snel- 
son, with  something  like  a  frown.  "  Ye  talk 
like  somebody  readin'  from  a  book — upon  me 
word  ye  do — and  if  that  was  all  I'd  not  disagree 
wit'  ye  ;  but  ye  go  on  and  talk  for  all  the  world 


go  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

like  ye  had  yure  two  blessed  eyes  on  the  coon 
all  the  time.  Come  !  if  ye  know  all  that,  how 
d'ye  know  it  ? " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Jim-Polk,  "  the  coon  is 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  ahead  of  the  dogs — 
maybe  a  little  more,  maybe  a  little  less.  How 
do  I  know  it  ?  Why,  because  I  know  my  dogs. 
They  ain't  on  their  mettle.  They  ain't  runnin' 
at  more  than  half  speed,  if  that.  I  can  tell  by 
the  way  they  open  on  the  trail.  Old  Loud  is 
takin'  his  time.  When  he  gets  the  coon  started 
home  you'll  hear  him  fairly  lumber.  How  do 
I  know  the  coon  is  goin'  away  from  home  ? 
Shucks  !  My  sev'n  senses  tell  me  that.  We 
started  out  early.  So  did  old  Zip.  He  was  at 
the  pond  huntin'  for  frogs  when  he  heard  old 
Louder  open.  If  he's  struck  out  on  t'other  side 
of  the  dreen  we'll  have  to  wait  tell  the  dogs 
fetch  him  back  to  the  creek.  If  he  struck  out 
on  this  side,  he'll  come  right  down  the  hol- 
low below  here.  Let's  see  what  the  dogs 
say." 

"  Deyer  'livenin'  up,"  said  Harbert. 

The  hunters  walked  a  few  hundred  yards  to 
the  verge  of  the  slope  that  led  to  the  bed  of  the 
creek.     Suddenly   the   dogs   were   silent.     Ten 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  91 

seconds  —  twenty;  a  half-minute  passed,  and 
nothing  could  be  heard  of  the  dogs. 

"  We  may  as  well  return  home,"  said  Mr. 
Snelson.  "  The  ravenous  beasts  have  overtaken 
him,  and  they'll  lay  by  till  they've  devoured 
him.  Upon  me  soul,  it's  queer  tastes  they 
have  !  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Jim-Polk.  "  Dogs'll  eat 
rabbits  and  squirrels,  but  they  never  eat  coons 
nor  'possums.  You'll  hear  from  Jolly  and  Loud 
terreckly,  and  then  they'll  be  a-gallantin'  old 
Zip  home.     Just  listen  !  " 

As  he  spoke  Loud  gave  mouth  with  a  roar 
that  filled  the  woods,  and  he  was  immediately 
joined  by  Jolly,  whose  quicker  and  more  de- 
cisive voice  chimed  in  as  a  pleasant  accompani- 
ment. 

"  They  are  comin'  right  this  way  ! "  exclaimed 
Jim-Polk,  breathlessly.  "  Don't  make  a  fuss- 
just  be  right  still,  so's  not  to  skeer  the  coon 
across  the  creek.  Jewhillikens  !  Jest  listen  at 
old  Loud  a-lumberin' !  " 

And  it  was  worth  listening  to.  The  mettle 
of  the  dog— of  both  dogs— was  now  fairly  up, 
and  they  gave  voice  with  a  heat  and  vigor  that 
could  hardly  have  been  improved  upon  if  they 


92  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

had  been  in  sight  of  the  fleeing  raccoon.  They 
seemed  to  be  running  at  full  speed.  They 
passed  within  twenty  yards  of  where  the  hunt- 
ers stood,  snorting  fiercely  as  they  caught  their 
breath  to  bark.  As  they  went  by,  Harbert  sent 
a  wild  halloo  after  them  that  seemed  to  add  to 
their  ardor. 

"  Now,  then,"  exclaimed  Jim-Polk,  "  we've 
got  to  go.  You  take  the  axe,  Harbert,  and  let 
Joe  take  your  light." 

Raising  his  torch  aloft,  Jim-Polk  sprang  for- 
ward after  the  dogs,  closely  followed  by  Joe  Max- 
well and  Harbert,  while  Mr.  Snelson  brought 
up  the  rear.  The  clever  printer  was  not  a 
woodsman,  and  he  made  his  way  through  the 
undergrowth  and  among  the  trees  with  great 
difficulty.  Once,  when  he  paused  for  a  moment 
to  disentangle  his  legs  from  the  embrace  of  a 
bamboo  brier,  he  found  himself  left  far  in  the 
rear,  and  he  yelled  lustily  to  his  compan 
ions. 

"  Mother  of  Moses  !  "  he  exclaimed  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  "  will  ye  be  after  leavin'  me  in 
the  wilderness  ?  " 

But  for  the  quick  ear  of  Harbert,  he  would 
assuredly  have  been   left.     The  other   hunters 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  93 

waited  for  him,  and  he  came  up  puffing  and 
blowing. 

"  I  could  cut  a  cord  o'  wood  wit'  half  the  ex- 
ertion !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Come,  boys  !  let's  sit 
down  an'  have  an  understandin'.  Me  legs  and 
me  whole  body  politic  have  begun  for  to  cry 
out  agin  this  harum-scarum  performance.  Shall 
we  go  slower,  or  shall  ye  pick  me  up  an'  carry 
me  ? " 

The  boys  were  willing  to  compromise,  but 
in  the  ardor  of  the  chase  they  would  have  for- 
gotten Mr.  Snelson  if  that  worthy  gentleman 
had  not  made  his  presence  known  by  yelling  at 
them  whenever  they  got  too  far  ahead.  The 
dogs  ran  straight  down  the  creek  for  a  mile  at 
full  speed.     Suddenl}^  Jim-Polk  cried  out : 

"  They've  treed  !  " 

"  Yasser  !  "  said  Harbert,  with  a  loud  whoop  ; 
"  dey  mos'  sholy  is  !  " 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Snelson,  sarcastically,  "  the 
fun  is  all  over — the  jig  is  up.  'Tis  a  thousand 
pities." 

"  Not  much  !  "  exclaimed  Jim-Polk.  "  The 
fun's  just  begun.  A  coon  ain't  kotch  jest  be- 
cause he's  up  a  tree." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Snelson,  with  a  serious 


94  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

air,  "  if  they've  got  wings,  upon  me  soul,  we 
should  have  fetched  a  balloon." 

When  the  hounds  were  trailing  there  was  a 
mellow  cadence  in  their  tones  which  was  not  to 
be  heard  when  they  barked  at  the  tree.  They 
gave  mouth  more  deliberately,  and  in  a  meas- 
ured way. 

When  the  hunters  arrived  the  hounds  were 
alternately  baying  and  gnawing  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree. 

"  Bark  to  bark  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Snelson, 
with  much  solemnity.  His  little  joke  was  lost 
on  all  save  Joe  Maxwell,  who  was  too  much 
interested  in  the  coon  to  laugh  at  it. 

Much  to  Harbert's  delight,  the  tree  was  not 
a  large  one,  and  he  made  immediate  prepara- 
tions to  cut  it  down. 

"  Wait  a  minit,"  said  Jim-Polk.  "  This  coon 
ain't  at  home,  and  we'd  better  be  certain  of  the 
tree  he  is  in." 

"  You  must  have  been  visitin'  him,"  said  the 
genial  printer^  "  for  how  de  ye  know  about  his 
home,  else  ?" 

"  Some  of  these  days,"  said  Jim-Polk,  laugh- 
ing, "  I'll  come  to  your  house  an'  stay  to  dinner, 
an'  tell  you  about  how  coons  live  in  holler  trees." 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  95 

"  Fetch  your  dinner  wit'  ye,"  responded 
Snelson,  "and  ye're  more  than  welcome." 

Jim-Polk  was  too  busy  to  make  a  reply. 
Holding-  the  torch  behind  him,  and  waving  it 
slowly,  he  walked  around  the  tree.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  investigating  his  own  shadow, 
which  flickered  and  danced  in  the  leaves  and 
branches.  Now  stooping  and  peering,  now  tip- 
toeing and  craning  his  neck,  now  leaning  to  the 
right  and  now  to  the  left,  he  looked  into  the  top 
of  the  tree.     Finally,  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Here  he  is,  Joe  !  Come,  take  a  look  at 
him." 

Joe  tried  his  best  to  see  the  coon.  He 
looked  where  Jim-Polk  pointed,  taking  sight 
along  his  finger,  but  he  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  he  could  see  nothing- 

"  Gracious  alive  !  "  cried  Jim-Polk,  "  can't 
you  see  his  eyes  a-shinin'  in  the  leaves  there  ? " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  exclaim.ed  Joe  ;  "  I  was  looking 
for  the  whole  coon,  and  I  thought  the  shiny 
things  were  stars  showing  between  the  leaves." 

But  no  stars  ever  burned  as  steadily  as  the 
pale-green  little  orbs  that  shone  in  the  tree. 

"Maybe,"  said  Mr.  Snelson,  after  tr3-ing'in 
vain  to  "shine"  the  coon's  eyes — "maybe  the 


96  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

creature  has  left  his  eyes  there  and  escaped." 
But  the  others  paid  no  attention  to  his  jocu- 
larity. 

"The  thing  to  do  now,  Harbert,"  said  Jim- 
Polk,  "  is  to  lay  that  tree  where  it  won't  hit  up 
agin  no  other  tree,  because  if  we  don't  we'll 
have  to  be  a-cuttin'  an'  a-slashin'  in  here  all 
night." 

"  So ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Snelson,  in  a  tragic 
tone.  "  Well,  then,  I'll  der-raw  the  der-rapery 
of  me  couch  about  me  and  lie  down  to  pleasant 
der-reams !  " 

"You  see,"  said  Jim-Polk,  "if  that  tree  hits 
agin  another  tree,  off  goes  Mr.  Zip  Coon  into 
t'other  one.  Coon  is  quicker'n  lightnin'  on  the 
jump." 

"  ril  make  'er  fall  out  dat  way."  Harbert 
indicated  an  open  place  by  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"  Upon  me  soul ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Snelson, 
"  I  didn't  know  you  could  make  a  tree  fall  up 
hill." 

"  Yes,  suh  !  "  said  Harbert,  with  pardonable 
pride.  "  1  done  cleaned  out  too  many  new 
groun's.  I  lay  I  kin  drive  a  stob  out  dar  an' 
put  de  body  er  dish  yer  tree  right  'pon  top  un 
it.     I  kin  dat !  " 


OLD   ZIP  COON.  97 

With  that  Harbert  rolled  up  his  sleeves,  dis- 
playing the  billowy  muscles  of  his  arms,  wiped 
the  blade  of  the  axe,  spat  in  his  hands,  swung 
the  axe  around  his  head,  and  buried  it  deep  in 
the  bod}^  of  the  water-oak.  It  was  a  sweeping, 
downward  stroke,  and  it  was  followed  quickly 
by  others  until  in  a  very  short  time  the  tree 
began  to  sway  a  little.  The  dogs,  which  had 
ceased  their  ba)ang,  now  became  restless  and 
ran  wildly  about,  but  always  keeping  a  safe  dis- 
tance from  the  tree.  Mr.  Snelson  took  his 
stand  on  one  side  and  Joe  Maxwell  on  the  other, 
while  Jim-Polk  went  out  where  the  tree  was  to 
fall,  after  cautioning  Harbert  to  keep  a  look- 
out for  the  coon.  The  advice  to  Harbert  was 
given  with  good  reason,  for  it  is  a  favorite 
trick  of  the  raccoon  to  start  down  the  body 
of  the  tree  as  it  falls  and  leap  off  while  the 
dogs  and  hunters  are  looking  for  him  in  the 
bushy  top. 

This  coon  made  the  same  experiment.  As 
the  tree  swayed  forward  and  fell,  he  ran  down 
the  trunk.  Mr.  Snelson  saw  him,  gave  a  squall, 
and  rushed  forward  to  grab  him.  At  the  same 
moment  Harbert  gave  a  yell  that  was  a  signal 
to  the  dogs,  and  the  excited  creatures  plunged 


98  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

toward  him.  Whether  it  was  Jolly  or  whether 
it  was  Loud,  no  one  ever  knew,  but  one  of  the 
dogs,  in  his  excitement,  ran  between  Mr.  Snel- 
son's  legs.  That  gentleman's  heels  flew  in  the 
air,  and  he  fell  on  his  back  with  a  resounding 
thump.  Stunned  and  frightened,  he  hardly 
knew  what  had  happened.  The  last  thing  he 
saw  was  the  coon,  and  he  concluded  that  he  had 
captured  the  animal. 

"Murder!"  he  screamed.  "Run  here  an' 
take 'em  off!     Run  here  !     I've  got 'em  !  " 

Then  began  a  terrific  struggle  between  Mr. 
Snelson  and  a  limb  of  the  tree  that  just  pouched 
his  face,  and  this  he  kept  up  until  he  was  lifted 
to  his  feet.  He  made  a  ridiculous  spectacle  as 
he  stood  there  glaring  angrily  around  as  if  try- 
ing to  find  the  man  or  the  animal  that  had 
knocked  him  down  and  pummeled  him.  His 
coat  was  ripped  and  torn,  and  his  pantaloons 
were  split  at  both  knees.  He  seemed  to  real- 
ize the  figure  he  cut  in  the  eyes  of  his  com- 
panions. 

"  Oh,  laugh  away  !  "  he  cried.  "  'Tis  yure 
opportunity.  The  next  time  it  will  be  at  some 
one  else  ye're  laughing.  Upon  me  soul !  "  he 
went    on,    examining    himself,    "  I'd    ha'   fared 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  99 

better  in  the  battle  of  Manassus.  So  this  is 
your  coon-hunting,  is  it?  If  the  Lord  and  the 
coon'll  forgive  me  for  me  share  in  this  night's 
worruk,  the  devil  a  coon  will  I  hunt  any  more 
whatever." 

Meanwhile  the  coon  had  jumped  from  the 
tree,  with  the  hounds  close  behind  him.  They 
had  overrun  him  on  the  hill,  and  this  gave  him 
an  opportunity  to  get  back  to  the  swamp,  where 
the  dogs  could  not  follow  so  rapidly.  Yet  the 
coon  had  very  little  the  advantage.  As  Jim- 
Polk  expressed  it,  "  the  dogs  had  their  teeth  on 
edge,"  and  they  were  rushing  after  him  without 
any  regard  for  brake  or  brier,  lagoon  or  quag- 
mire. The  only  trouble  was  with  Mr.  Snelson, 
who  declared  that  he  was  fagged  out. 

"  Well,"  says  Jim-Polk,  "  we've  got  to  keep 
in  hearin'  of  the  dogs.  The  best  we  can  do  is 
to  fix  370U  up  with  a  light  an'  let  you  follow 
along  the  best  way  you  can.  You  couldn't  get 
lost  if  you  wanted  to,  'cause  all  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  follow  the  creek,  an'  you're  boun'  to  ketch 
up  with  us." 

So  Mr.  Snelson,  in  spite  of  his  prediction  that 
he  would  get  lost  in  the  wilderness,  and  be  de- 
voured  by  the  wild  beasts,  to  sa}'   nothing  of 


lOO  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

being  frightened  to  death  by  owls,  was  provided 
with  a  torch.  Then  the  boys  and  Harbert 
made  a  dash  in  the  direction  of  the  dogs.  If 
they  thought  to  leave  Mr.  Snelson,  they  reck- 
oned ill,  for  that  worthy  man,  flourishing  the 
torch  over  his  head,  managed  to  keep  them  in 
sight. 

"  The  dogs  are  not  very  far  away,"  said  Joe. 
"  They  ought  to  have  gone  a  couple  of  miles  by 
this  time." 

'  Old  Zip  is  in  trouble,"  said  Jim-Polk.  "  He 
has  been  turnin'  an'  doublin',  an'  twistin',  an' 
squirmin'.  He  can't  shake  ole  Loud  off,  an'  he 
can't  git  home.     So  what's  he  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

"  Climb  another  tree,  I  reckon,"  said  Joe. 

"  Not  much  !  "  exclaimed  Jim.  "  He'll  take 
to  water." 

The  dogs  got  no  farther  away,  but  the  chase 
still  kept  up.  The  coon  seemed  to  be  going  in 
all  directions,  across  and  around,  and  presently 
the  dogs  began  to  bay, 

"  He's  gone  in  a-washin' !  "  exclaimed  Jim- 
Polk,  with  a  yell. 

"  Bless  me  soul !  and  how  do  ye  know  that?" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Snelson,  who  came  up  puffing 
and  blowinof. 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  lOI 

*'  Oh,  I  know  mor'n  that,"  said  Jim-Polk. 
"  The  coon's  in  the  water,  'cause  when  the  dogs 
bark  at  him  it  don't  soun'  like  it  did  when  they 
had  their  heads  in  the  air ;  an'  he's  in  swimmin' 
water,  'cause,  if  he  wan't,  he'd  a'  been  kilt  by 
this  time." 

It  was  as  Jim-Polk  said.  When  the  hunters 
reached  the  dogs  they  could  see  the  coon  swim- 
ming around  and  around  in  the  center  of  a  small 
lagoon,  while  the  dogs  were  rushing  about  on 
the  banks. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness,"  exclaimed  Harbert, 
"  dat  dey  wuz  some  young  dogs  wid  us,  bekaze 
den  we'd  have  de  biggest  kind  er  fight.  Dey'd 
swim  in  dar  atter  dat  coon,  an'  he'd  fetch  um 
a  swipe  er  two,  an'  den  jump  on  der  heads 
an'  duck  um.  Gentermens  !  he  sholy  is  a  big 
un." 

"  You're  right !  "  exclaimed  Jim- Polk.  "  He's 
one  of  the  old-timers.  He'd  put  up  a  tremen- 
jus  fight  if  he  didn't  have  old  Loud  to  tackle. 
—Fetch  him  out,  boys  !  "  he  cried  to  the  dogs, 
"  fetch  him  out !  " 

Long  experience  had  taught  the  dogs  their 
tactics.  Jolly  swam  in  and  engaged  the  coon's 
attention,  while  Loud  followed,  swimming  side- 


102  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

wise  toward  the  center.  Jolly  swam  around 
slowly,  while  Loud  seemed  to  drift  toward  the 
coon,  still  presenting  a  broadside,  so  to  speak. 
The  coon,  following  the  movements  of  Jolly, 
had  paid  no  attention  to  Loud.  Suddenly  he 
saw  the  dog,  and  sprang  at  him,  but  it  was  too 
late.  Loud  ducked  his  head,  and,  before  the 
coon  could  recover,  fastened  his  powerful  jaws 
on  the  creature's  ribs.  There  was  a  loud  squall, 
a  fierce  shake,  and  the  battle  was  over. 

But  before  the  dog  could  bring  the  coon  to 
the  bank,  Mr.  Snelson  uttered  a  paralyzing 
shriek  and  ran  for  the  water.  Harbert  tried  to 
hold  him  back. 

"  Ouch  !  loose  me  !  loose  me  !  I'll  brain  ye 
if  ye  don't  loose  me  !  " 

Shaking  Harbert  off,  the  printer  ran  to  the 
edge  of  the  lagoon,  and  soused  his  hand  and 
arm  in  the  water.  In  his  excitement  he  had 
held  the  torch  straight  over  his  head,  and  the 
hot  pitch  from  the  fat  pine  had  run  on  his  hand 
and  down  his  sleeve. 

"  Look  at  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  they  went 
slowly  homeward.  "  Just  look  at  me !  The 
poor  wife'll  have  to  doctor  me  body  an'  darn 
me  clothes,  an'  they're  all  I've  got  to  me  name. 


OLD   ZIP   COON.  103 

If  ye'll  stand  by  me,  Joe,"  he  went  on  patheti- 
cally, "  I'll  do  your  worruk  meself,  but  ye  shall 
have  two  afternoons  next  week."  And  Joe 
Maxwell  "  stood  by  "  Mr.  Snelson  the  best  he 
could. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 
SOMETHING   ABOUT   "  SANDY   CLAUS." 

Harbert's  house  on  the  Turner  place  was 
not  far  from  the  kitchen,  and  the  kitchen  itself 
was  only  a  few  feet  removed  from  the  big 
house ;  in  fact,  there  was  a  covered  passageway 
between  them.  From  the  back  steps  of  the 
kitchen  two  pieces  of  hewn  timber,  half  buried 
in  the  soil,  led  to  Harbert's  steps,  thus  forming, 
as  the  negro  called  it,  a  wet- weather  path,  over 
which  Mr.  Turner's  children  could  run  when 
the  rest  of  the  yard  had  been  made  muddy  by 
the  fall  and  winter  rains. 

Harbert's  house  had  two  rooms  and  two  fire- 
places. One  of  the  rooms  was  set  apart  for  him 
and  his  wife,  while  the  other  was  used  as  a  weav- 
ing-room. In  one  Harbert  used  to  sit  at  night 
and  amuse  the  children  with  his  reminiscences 
and  his  stories  ;  in  the  other  Aunt  Crissy  used 
to  weave  all  day  and  sing,  keeping  time  with 
the  frying  shuttle  and  the  dancing  slays.     The 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "SANDY   CLAUS."      105 

children  might  tire  of  their  toys,  their  ponies, 
and  everything  else,  but  they  could  alwaj'S  find 
something  to  interest  them  in  Harbert's  house. 
There  were  few  nights,  especially  during  the 
winter,  that  did  not  find  them  seated  by  the 
negro's  white  hearthstone.  On  special  occa- 
sions they  could  hardly  wait  to  finish  supper 
before  going  out  to  see  him.  Sometimes  they 
found  Aunt  Crissy  there,  and  as  she  was  fat  and 
good-humored — not  to  say  jolly — she  was  always 
a  welcome  guest,  so  far  as  the  children  were 
concerned.  As  for  Harbert,  it  was  all  one  to 
him  whether  Aunt  Crissy  was  present  or  not. 
To  use  his  own  sententious  phrase,  she  was 
welcome  to  come  or  she  was  welcome  to  stay 
away.  Frequently  Joe  Maxwell  would  go  and 
sit  there  with  them,  especially  when  he  was  feel- 
ing lonely  and  homesick. 

One  evening,  in  the  early  part  of  December, 
the  children  hurried  through  their  supper  of 
bread  and  butter  and  milk,  and  ran  to  Harbert's 
house.  Aunt  Crissy  was  there,  and  her  fat  face 
and  white  teeth  shone  in  the  firelight  as  she  sat 
smiling  at  the  youngsters. 

"  I  done  got  Chris'mas  in  my  bones,"  she 
was  saying,  as  Wattie  and  Willie  entered. 


I06  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

"  Well,  I  ain't  gwine  ter  say  dat,"  said  Har- 
bert,  "  kaze  I'm  dat  ole  dat  I  ain't  got  no  roo- 
mance  in  my  bones  fer  nothin'  'tall,  'ceppin'  'tis 
de  rheumatism  ;  yit  dat  don't  bender  Chris'mas, 
an'  I  ain't  makin'  no  deniance  but  what  hit's  in 
de  a'r." 

"  Now  you  er  talkin',"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Crissy,  with  unction.     "  You  mos'  sholy  is." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  Harbert 
cried  out: 

"  In  de  name  er  goodness,  des  lissen  at 
dat !  " 

What  was  it?  The  wind,  rising  and  falling, 
ebbing  and  flowing  like  the  great  waves  of  the 
sea,  whistled  under  the  eaves,  and  sighed 
mournfully  over  the  chimney.  But  it  was  not 
the  wind  that  Harbert  heard.  There  was  a 
sharp  rattling  on  the  shingles  and  a  swift  pat- 
tering at  the  windows.  Harbert  and  Aunt 
Crissy  looked  at  each  other  and  then  at  the 
children. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Wattie,  drawing  a  little 
closer  to  Harbert. 

"  Pshaw  !  I  know  what  it  is,"  said  Willie, 
"it's  sleet."  Harbert  shook  his  head  gravely 
as  he  gazed  in  the  fire. 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "SANDY   CLAUS."      IO7 

"  It  mought  be,"  he  said,  "  an'  den  agin  it 
moughtn't.  It  mought  be  ole  Sandy  Claus 
sorter  skirmishin'  roun'  an'  feeHn'  his  way." 

"  Trufe,  too,"  said  Aunt  Crissy,  falling  in 
with  the  idea.  "  He  moughtn't  want  to  skeer 
nobody,  so  he  des  let  folks  b'lieve  tain't  nothin' 
but  sleet.  Dey  tells  me  dat  ole  man  Sandy 
Claus  is  monstus  slick." 

"  He  bleedze  ter  be  slick,"  remarked  Har- 
bert,  "kaze  I  bin  livin'  yere,  off  an'  on,  a  mighty 
long  time,  an'  I  ain't  saw  'im  yit.  An'  I  let 
you  know  hit  got  ter  be  a  mighty  slick  man 
dat  kin  dodge  me  all  dis  time.  He  got  to  be 
bofe  slick  an'  peart." 

"  Yasser,"  said  Aunt  Crissy,  holding  her 
apron  up  by  the  corner,  and  looking  at  it 
thoughtfully ;  "  he  slick  fer  true.  He  light 
'pon  top  er  de  house  same  ez  a  jay-bird,  an' 
dey  ain't  no  scufiflin'  when  he  slide  down  de 
chimberly." 

"  Dey  sez,"  said  Harbert,  in  a  reminiscent 
way — "  dey  sez  dat  he  rubs  hisse'f  wid  goose- 
grease  fer  ter  make  he  j'ints  limber  an'  loose  ; 
when  he  got  dis  yere  grease  on  'im  dey  can't 
nobody  ketch  'im,  kaze  he'd  slip  right  out'n 
der  ban's." 


I08  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

"  I  speck  dat's  so,"  said  Aunt  Crissy,  "  kaze 
one  time  when  I  wuz  livin'  wid  Marse  Willyum 
Henry  an'  sleepin'  in  de  house  in  time  er  Chris'- 
mas,  I  tuck'n  he'p'd  de  chillun  hang  up  der 
stockin's.  After  dey  all  got  ter  bed,  I  sot  b}'  de 
fier  a-noddin'.  How  long  I  sot  dar  I'll  never 
tell  you,  but  all  of  a  sudden  I  yeard  a  turrible 
racket.  I  gun  a  jump,  I  did,  an'  open  my  eyes. 
De  outside  do'  wuz  open,  an'  stannin'  dar  wuz 
one  er  Marse  Willyum  Henry's  houn'  dogs.  He 
stood  dar,  he  did,  wid  his  bristles  up,  an'  dar  in 
de  middle  er  the  flo'  wuz  de  ole  cat.  Her  back 
wuz  all  bowed  up,  an'  her  tail " — here  Aunt 
Crissy  paused  and  looked  all  around  the  room 
as  if  in  search  of  something  with  which  to  com- 
pare the  old  cat's  tail — "  I  ain't  tellin'  you  no  lie  ; 
dat  cat  tail  wuz  bigger  'roun'  dan  my  arm  !  " 

"  I  don't  'spute  it,"  exclaimed  Harbert,  with 
fervor,  "  dat  I  don't." 

"  An'  dat  ain't  all."  Aunt  Crissy  closed  her 
eves  and  threw  her  head  back,  as  if  to  add  em- 
phasis  to  what  she  was  about  to  say.  "  Dat 
ain't  all — dem  ar  stockin's  wuz  done  fulled  up 
wid  goodies,  an'  dey  wuz  done  fulled  up  whilst 
I  wuz  a-settin'  right  dar."  No  style  of  type  has 
yet   been  invented  that  would   convey  even  a 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "  SANUY   CLAUS."      I09 

faint  idea  of  the  impressive  tone  in  which  Aunt 
Cissy  made  this  startling  announcement. 

"  Ole  Sandy  wuz  gittin'  you  in  close  quar- 
ters, mon,"  exclaimed  Harbert. 

"  Man,  you  er  talkin'  now,"  said  Aunt 
Crissy.  "  I  wuz  settin'  right  spang  at  de  fier- 
place,"  she  went  on,  describing  her  position 
with  appropriate  gestures,  "  an'  I  could  er  des 
retched  out  my  han' — so — an'  totched  de  stock- 
in's,  an'  yit,  'spite  er  dat,  'long  come  ole  Sandy 
Claus,  whilst  I  wuz  settin'  dar  noddin'  an'  fulled 
um  up.  Dat  des  what  he  done.  He  come,  he 
did,  an'  fulled  um  up  right  fo'  my  face.  Ef  my 
eyes  had  er  des  bin  open  I'd  a  seed  'im,  an'  ef 
I'd  a  seed  'im,  I'd  a  grabbed  'im  right  by  de 
coat-tail.  Yasser !  I'd  a  grabbed  'im  ef  he'd  a 
kyar'd  me  up  de  chimberly." 

Wattie  and  Willie  listened  open-mouthed, 
so  intense  was  their  interest ;  and  so,  it  may 
be  said,  did  Joe  Maxwell.  But  now  Willie 
spoke : 

"  Suppose  you  had  caught  him,  Aunt  Crissy, 
what  would  you  have  done  then  ?  " 

"  Shoo,  honey  !  I'd  a  helt  him  hard  an'  fas'  : 
I'd  a  rastled  wid  'im,  an'  when  he  'gun  ter  git 
de  better  un  me,  I'd  a  squalled  out  same  ez  one 


no  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

er  dez  yere  wil'  cats.  I'd  a  squalled  so  loud  I'd 
a  fair  'larmed  de  settlement." 

Aunt  Crissy  paused,  folded  her  fat  arms 
across  her  broad  bosom  and  looked  in  the  fire. 
Harbert,  with  a  long  pair  of  tongs,  as  musical  as 
those  that  Shakespeare  wrote  about,  put  the 
noses  of  the  chunks  together,  and  carefully 
placed  a  fat  pine  knot  in  the  center.  Then  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  rubbed  his  chin 
thoughtfully. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  a  while,  "  I  dunno  ez 
I  bin  close  to  ole  Sandy  Claus  as  what  you  is, 
Sis  Crissy,  but  I  bin  mighty  close,  an'  'tain't  bin 
so  mighty  long  ago  needer.  One  night  des  'fo' 
Chris'mas  I  wuz  gwine  'long  thoo  de  woods 
close  by  de  Ward  place.  I  wuz  gwine  'long,  I 
wuz,  sorter  studyin'  wid  m3'se'f  'bout  whedder  I 
ought  ter  hang  up  my  stockin's  wid  de  res'  er 
de  folks,  when,  fus  news  I  know,  look  like  I  kin 
year  de  win'  blowin'.  Hit  soun'  so  loud  dat  I 
stop  right  in  my  tracks  an  ax  myse  f  what  de 
name  er  goodness  is  de  matter.  I  ain't  feel  no 
win'  an'  I  ain't  see  no  bush  shakin',  but  up  dar 
in  de  top  er  de  trees  hit  look  like  dey  wuz  a 
reg'lar  hurrycane  a  blowin'.  Man,  sir !  she  fair 
roared  up  dar,  yit  I  ain't  see  no  win',  an'  I  ain't 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "  SANDY   CLAUS."      I  I  I 

see  no  bush  a  shakin'.  Hit  make  me  feel  so 
quare  dat  ef  a  liick'y-nut  had  a  drapped  any- 
whar  nigh  me,  I'd  a  broke  an'  run  fum  dar 
like  de  Ole  Boy  wuz  atter  me.  Hit  make  me 
feel  so  funny  dat  I  ain't  know  whedder  it  wuz 
ole  man  Harbert  out  dar,  or  some  yuther  nigger 
dat  done  got  los'  in  some  new  country.  I  stood 
dar,  I  did,  en  des  waited  fer  sump'n  ner  ter  hap- 
pen, but  bimeby  de  noise  all  quit,  an'  de  roarin' 
died  down,  twel  you  could  a  yeard  a  pin  drop. 
I  kotch  my  bref,  I  did,  an'  I  'low  ter  m3'self 
dat  all  dat  racket  up  in  de  a'r  dar  mus'  sholy 
a-bin  ole  Sandy  Claus  agwine  sailin'  by.  Dat 
what  I  had  in  my  min',  yit  I  ain't  stop  dar  fer 
ter  make  no  inquirements.  I  des  put  out,  I  did, 
an'  I  went  a  polin'  home,  an'  it  make  me  feel 
mighty  good  when  I  got  dar." 

The  children  visited  Harbert's  house  every 
night  for  several  nights  before  Christmas,  but 
somehow  they  didn't  seem  to  enjoy  themselves. 
Harbert  was  so  busy  with  one  thing  and  another 
that  they  felt  themselves  in  the  way.  They  had 
the  ardor  and  the  hope  of  childhood,  however,  and 
they  continued  their  visits  with  persistent  regu- 
larity. They  were  very  patient,  comparatively 
speaking,  and  their  patience  was  finally  rewarded. 


112  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

The  night  before  Christmas,  when  their  in- 
terests and  expectations  were  on  the  point  of 
culmination,  they  found  Harbert  sitting  in  front 
of  the  fire,  his  head  thrown  back  and  his  hands 
folded  in  his  lap ;  and  before  the  little  ones 
could  fix  themselves  comfortably,  Aunt  Crissy 
walked  in  and  flung  herself  into  a  chair. 

"  W/ioo-ee /  "  she  exclaimed.  "I'm  dat  tired 
dat  I  can't  skacely  drag  one  foot  'fo'  de  yuther. 
Look  like  1  bin  on  my  feet  mighty  nigh  a  mont', 
dat  it  do,  an'  I'm  dat  stifT,  I  feel  like  some  er  my 
lim's  gwine  ter  break  in  two.  Dey  ain't  nothin' 
on  dis  plantation  dat  I  ain't  had  my  han's  in, 
'specially  ef  it's  work.  It's  Crissy  yere,  an 
Crissy  dar,  de  whole  blessed  time,  an'  I  dun' 
ner  what  de  lazy  niggers  'roun'  yere  would  do 
ef  Crissy  wuz  to  take  a  notion  ter  peg  out. 
Mistiss  got  old  Charity  in  de  kitchin'  dar  a- 
cookin'  an'  a-growlin',  but  when  dey's  any  nice 
cookin'  ter  be  done,  Crissy  got  ter  go  an'  do 
it.  I  wouldn't  mind  it  so  much,"  Aunt  Crissy 
went  on,  "  ef  dem  yuther  niggers'd  do  like  dey 
tuck  some  intruss  in  what's  gwine  on,  but  you 
know  yo'se'f.  Brer  Harbert,  how  no  'count  dey 
is." 

"  Ah,    Lord !    you   nee'nt    ter    tell    me,    Sis 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "SANDY   CLAUS."      II3 

Crissy,  I  know  um  ;  I  know  um  all.  An'  yit 
dey'll  all  be  scrougin'  one  ane'r  'fo'  day  arter 
termorrow  mornin'  fer  ter  see  which  gwine  ter 
be  de  fus  fer  ter  holler  Chris'mas  giV  at  marster 
an'  mistiss.  Now  you  watch  um  !  dey'll  all  be 
dar,  an'  dey  ain't  none  un  um  skacely  yearned 
der  salt.  I'm  mighty  nigh  run  down.  Dis 
mornin'  de  stock  in  de  lot  wuz  a  hollerin'  fer 
der  feed,  an'  it  wuz  broad  daylight  at  dat.  Den 
dar  wuz  de  milkin' :  hit  wuz  atter  sun-up  'fo'  dat 
Marthy  Ann  got  ter  de  cow-pen.  Dat  gal  blood 
kin  ter  you,  Sis  Crissy,  but  I  done  laid  de  law 
down ;  I  done  tole  'er  dat  de  nex'  time  she  come 
creepin'  out  dat  late,  I  wuz  gwine  to  whirl  in  an' 
gi'  'er  a  frailin',  an'  I'm  gwine  to  do  it  ef  de 
Lord  spar's  me." 

"  Nummine  'bout  no  kinnery.  Brer  Harbert," 
said  Aunt  Crissy,  with  emphasis.  "  You  des  git 
you  a  brush  an'  wa'r  dat  gal  out.  She  new  han' 
wid  de  cows,  but  tooby  sho'  she  kin  git  out  'fo' 
sun-up." 

"  I'm  mighty  glad,"  Harbert  remarked,  glanc- 
ing at  the  children,  who  were  not  at  all  inter- 
ested in  the  "worriments"  of  those  faithful 
negroes — "  I'm  mighty  glad  dat  Chris'mas  is  so 
nigh.     De  corn  done  in  de  crib,  de  fodder  in  de 


114  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

barn,  de  cotton  'n  de  gin-house,  de  hogs  done 
kilt  an'  put  up,  an'  ef  Charity  ain't  might'ly  be- 
hindhand de  turkey  done  in  de  pot.  Dat  bein' 
de  case,  what  mo'  kin  we  ax,  'ceptin'  we  git 
down  yere  on  de  flo'  an'  ax  a  blessin' }  " 

"  Trufe,  too  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Crissy.  "  I 
ain't  quoUin',  but  dem  niggers  is  so  owdacious 
lazy  dat  dey  keeps  me  pestered." 

"  Yasser  !  "  continued  Harbert,  "  de  signs  all 
look  like  deyer  right.  When  I  sets  right  flat 
down  an'  run  it  all  over,  hit  make  me  feel  so 
good  dat  I  got  a  great  mine  fer  ter  hang  up  my 
sock  right  dar  side  er  de  chimbly-jam,  an'  set 
up  yere  an'  watch  fer  ter  see  ole  Sandy  Claus 
come  a-slidin'  down.  Ef  his  foot  wuz  ter  slip, 
an'  he  wuz  ter  drap  down  on  dat  pot-rack  dar,  I 
lay  he'd  wake  up  de  whole  plantation.  My 
sock  ain't  so  mighty  long  in  de  leg,"  Harbert 
went  on,  reflectively,  "  but  she  mighty  big  in 
de  foot,  an'  ef  ole  Sandy  Claus  wuz  ter  take  a 
notion  fer  ter  fill  'er  plum  up,  she'd  lighten  his 
wallet  might'ly." 

"  Did  you  ever  hang  up  your  stockings,  Har- 
bert? "  asked  Willie. 

"  Why,  tooby  sho',  honey,"  replied  the  negro, 
laughing.     "  I  bin  hang  um  up  way  back  yander 


SOMETHING  ABOUT    "SANDY    CLAUS."      II5 

'fo'  you  wuz  born'd.  An'  I  used  ter  git  goodies 
in  um,  too.  Lord !  dem  wuz  times,  sho'  nuff.  I 
used  ter  git  goodies  in  urn  dem  days,  but  now  I 
speck  I  wouldn't  git  so  much  ez  a  piece  er 
'lasses  candy.  But,  nummine  'bout  dat!  I'll 
des  take  en  hang  um  up  dis  night,  an'  I'll  be 
mighty  glad  ef  I  git  a  slishe  er  cracklin'  bread. 
Dat  kinder  bread  good  nuff  for  me,  'specially 
when  it  right  fresh." 

"  Man,  don't  talk  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Crissy. 
"  Look  like  I  kin  in  about  tas'e  it  now  !  " 

"  Aunt  Crissy,  are  you  going  to  hang  up 
your  stockings  ?  "  asked  Wattie. 

"  Bless  yo'  soul,  honey  !  I  mos'  got  in  de 
notion  un  it.  Ef  'twan't  dat  I'm  a  sleepin'  up  in 
old  Granny  Chaney  house  fer  ter  sorter  keep  'er 
comp'ny,  I  speck  I  would  hang  um  up.  But 
dey  tells  me  dat  'twon't  do  no  good  ef  you  hang 
up  yo'  stockin's  in  some  un  else  house.  'Sides 
dat,  ole  Granny  Chaney  so  restless  dat  she'd  in 
about  skeer  old  Sandy  Claus  off  ef  he  'uz  to 
start  ter  come.  I'm  a  tellin'  you  de  trufe.  Brer 
Harbert,  dat  ole  creetur  done  got  so  dat  she 
don't  skacely  close  'er  eyes  fer  sleep  de  whole 
blessed  night.  She  take  so  many  naps  endurin' 
'er  de  day,  dat  when    night   come  she  des  ez 


Il6  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

wakeful  ez  dat  ole  black  cat  what  stay  up  dar 
at  de  barn." 

"  Dat  ole  'oman  gittin'  ole,  mon,"  said  Har- 
bert.  "  She  wuz  done  grown  an'  had  chillun 
when  I  wuz  little  baby.  She  lots  older  dan 
what  I  is,  an'  I  ain't  no  chicken  myse'f.  I  speck 
ef  she  'uz  ter  go  back  an'  count  up  'er  Chris- 
'mases,  she  done  seed  mighty  nigh  ez  many  ez 
what  ole  Sandy  Claus  is." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Crissy,  changing  the  sub- 
ject, "  I  ain't  gwine  hang  up  no  stockin',  kaze  I 
speck  dat  whatsomever  ole  Sandy  Claus  got  fer 
me,  he'll  drap  it  som'rs  in  de  big  house,  an' 
when  I  holler  at  marster  an'  mistiss  in  de  morn- 
in',  dey'U  fetch  it  out." 

"  Dat's  so,"  said  Harbert.  "  Yit  I  got  a 
mighty  good  notion  fer  ter  hang  up  mine  an' 
take  de  resk.  But  I'd  a  heap  ruther  git  sumpin' 
dat's  too  big  fer  ter  go  in  um." 

"  Well,  we  are  going  to  hang  up  our  stock- 
ings," said  Willie.  "  I'm  going  to  hang  up  both 
of  mine,  and  Wattie  says  she's  going  to  hang  up 
both  of  hers." 

"  Dat's  right,  honey ;  an'  if  dat  ain't  'nuff' 
whirl  in  an'  hang  up  a  meal-sack.  I  done  bin 
year  tell  'fo'  now  'bout  folks  what  hang  up  great 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "SANDY   CLAUS."      II7 

big  bags  stidder  der  stockin's.  Whedder  dey 
got  any  mo'  dan  t'er  folks  is  mo'  dan  I  kin  tell 
you." 

"  Harbert,"  said  Wattie,  "  do  you  reckon 
we'll  git  anything  at  all  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  speck  so,"  said  the  negro.  "  I  ain't 
year  talk  er  you  bein'  so  mighty  bad  dis  long 
time.  You  cuts  up  scan'lous  sometimes,  but  it's 
kaze  yo'  buddy  dar  pesters  you." 

This  suggestion  made  Willie  so  angry  that 
he  threatened  to  go  back  to  the  big  house  and 
go  to  bed,  and  he  would  have  gone  but  for  a 
remark  made  by  Aunt  Criss}' — a  remark  that 
made  him  forget  his  anger. 

"  Dey  tells  me,"  said  Aunt  Crissy,  in  a  sub- 
dued tone,  "  dat  de  cows  know  when  Chris'mas 
come,  an'  many's  de  time  I  year  my  mammy 
say  dat  when  twelve  o'clock  come  on  Chris'mas- 
eve  night,  de  cows  gits  down  on  der  knees  in  de 
lot  an'  stays  dat-awa)-  some  little  time.  Ef  any- 
body else  had  er  tole  me  dat  I'd  a  des  hooted  at 
um,  but,  mammy,  she  say  she  done  seed  um  do 
it.  T  ain't  never  seed  um  do  it  myse'f,  but 
mammy  say  she  seed  um." 

"  I  bin  year  talk  er  dat  m^'se'f,"  said  Harbert, 

reverently,  "  an'  dey  tells  me  dat  de  cattle  gits 
9 


Il8  ON    THE    PLANTATION, 

down  an'  prays  bekaze  dat's  de  time  when  de 
Lord  an'  Saviour  wuz  born'd." 

"  Now,  don't  dat  beat  all !  "  exclaimed  Aunt 
Crissy.  "  Ef  de  dumb  creeturs  kin  say  der 
pra'rs,  I  dunner  what  folks  ought  ter  be  doin'." 

"An'  dar's  de  chickens,"  Harbert  went  on  — 
"  look  like  dey  know  der's  sump'n  up.  Dis  ve'y 
night  I  year  de  roosters  crowin'  fo'  sev'n  o'clock. 
I  year  tell  dat  dey  crows  so  soon  in  sign  dat 
Peter  made  deniance  un  his  Lord  an'  Marster." 

"  I  speck  dat's  so,"  said  Aunt  Crissy. 

"  Hit  bleedze  ter  be  so,"  responded  the  old 
man  with  the  emphasis  that  comes  from  con- 
viction. 

Then  he  intimated  that  it  was  time  for  the 
children  to  go  to  bed  if  they  wanted  to  get  up 
early  the  next  morning  to  see  what  Sandy  Claus 
had  brought.  This  was  a  suggestion  the  young- 
sters could  appreciate,  and  they  scrambled  out 
of  the  door  and  went  racing  to  the  big  house. 

Before  sunrise  the  plantation  was  in  a  stir. 
The  negroes,  rigged  out  in  their  Sunday  clothes, 
were  laughing,  singing,  wrestling,  and  playing. 
The  mules  and  horses  having  been  fed  and 
turned  in  the  pasture  for  a  holiday,  were  caper- 
ing about ;  the  cows  were  lowing  in  a  satisfied 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "SANDY   GLAUS."      I  I9 

manner,  the  dogs  were  barking,  the  geese 
screaming,  the  turke3"s  "  yelping  "  and  gobbling, 
and  the  chickens  cackling.  A  venerable  bill}'- 
goat,  with  a  patriarchal  beard  and  the  rings  of 
many  summers  marked  on  his  broad  and  crum- 
pled horns,  had  marched  up  one  of  the  long 
arms  of  the  packing-screw  and  was  now  perched 
motionless  on  the  very  pinnacle  of  that  quaint 
structure,  making  a  picturesque  addition  to  the 
landscape,  as  he  stood  outlined  against  the  red- 
dening eastern  sky. 

Willie  and  Wattie  were  up  so  early  that  they 
had  to  feel  for  their  stockings  in  the  dark,  and 
their  exclamations  of  delight,  when  they  found 
them  well  filled,  aroused  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold. By  the  time  breakfast  was  over  the  ne- 
groes were  all  assembled  in  the  yard,  and  they 
seemed  to  be  as  happy  as  the  children,  as  their 
laughter  and  their  antics  testified.  Towering 
above  them  all  was  Big  Sam,  a  giant  in  size  and 
a  child  in  disposition.  He  was  noted  for  miles 
around  for  his  feats  of  strength.  He  could 
shoulder  a  bale  of  cotton  weighing  five  hundred 
pounds,  and  place  it  on  a  wagon ;  and  though 
he  was  proud  of  his  abilit}^  in  this  direction,  he 
was  not  too  proud  to  be  the  leader  in  all  the 


120  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

frolics.  He  was  even  fuller  of  laughter  and 
good-humor  than  his  comrades,  and  on  this  par- 
ticular morning,  while  the  negroes  were  waiting 
for  the  usual  Christmas  developments.  Big  Sam, 
his  eyes  glistening  and  his  white  teeth  shining, 
struck  up  the  melody  of  a  plantation  play-song, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  dusky  crowd  had  ar- 
ranged itself  in  groups,  each  and  all  joining  in 
the  song.  No  musical  director  ever  had  a  more 
melodious  chorus  than  that  which  followed  the 
leadership  of  Big  Sam.  It  was  not  a  trained 
chorus,  to  be  sure,  but  the  melody  that  it  gave 
to  the  winds  of  the  morning  was  freighted  with 
a  quality  indescribably  touching  and  tender. 

In  the  midst  of  the  song  Mr.  Turner  ap- 
peared on  the  back  piazza,  and  instantly  a  shout 
went  up  : 

"  Chris'mas  gif,  marster  !  Chris'mas  gif!" 
and  then,  a  moment  later,  there  was  a  cry  of 
"  Chris'mas  gif,  mistiss  !  " 

"  Where  is  Harbert?"  inquired  Mr.  Turner, 
waving  his  hand  and  smiling. 

"  Here  me,  marster  ! "  exclaimed  Harbert, 
coming  forward  from  one  of  the  groups. 

"  Why,  you  haven't  been  playing,  have  you?" 

"  I   bin  tryin'   my  han',  suh,  an'  I   monst'us 


SOMETHING   ABOUT    "SANDY   GLAUS.'       121 

glad  you  come  out,  kaze  I  ain't  nimble  like  I 
useter  wuz.  Dey  got  me  in  de  middle  er  dat 
ring  dar,  an'  I  couldn't  git  out  nohow." 

"  Here  are  the  store-room  keys.  Go  and 
open  the  door,  and  I  will  be  there  directly." 

It  was  a  lively  crowd  that  gathered  around 
the  wide  door  of  the  store-room.  For  each  of 
the  older  ones  there  was  a  stiff  dram  apiece, 
and  for  all,  both  old  and  young,  there  was  a 
present  of  some  kind.  The  presents  were  of 
a  substantial  character,  too.  Those  who  had 
made  crops  of  their  own  found  a  profitable 
market  right  at  their  master's  door.  Some  of 
them  had  made  as  much  as  two  bales  of  cotton 
on  the  land  they  were  permitted  to  cultivate, 
while  others  had  made  good  crops  of  corn — all 
of  which  was  bought  by  their  master. 

Then  the  big  six-mule  wagon  was  brought 
into  service,  and  into  this  was  packed  the  horse- 
collars,  made  of  shucks  and  wahoo-bark,  the 
baskets,  the  foot-mats,  the  brooms,  the  walk- 
ing-canes, and  the  axe-helves,  that  were  to  find 
a  market  in  the  town  nine  miles  away. 

In  spite  of  the  war,  it  was  a  happy  time,  and 
Joe  Maxwell  was  as  happy  as  any  of  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS. 

All  was  peace  on  the  plantation,  but  war 
has  long  arms,  and  it  dropped  its  gifts  of  pov- 
erty and  privation  in  many  a  humble  home  with 
which  Joe  Maxwell  was  familiar.  War  has  its 
bill  of  fare,  too,  and  much  of  it  was  not  to  Joe's 
taste.  For  coffee  there  were  various  substitutes  : 
sweet  potatoes,  chipped  and  dried,  parched 
meal,  parched  rye,  parched  okra-seeds,  and  sas- 
safras tea.  Joe's  beverage  was  water  sweetened 
with  sorghum-sirup,  and  he  found  it  a  very 
refreshing  and  wholesome  drink.  Some  of  the 
dishes  that  were  popular  in  the  old  colonial 
days  were  revived.  There  was  persimmon 
bread ;  what  could  be  more  toothsome  than 
that  ?  Yet  a  little  of  it  went  a  long  way,  as  Mr. 
Wall  used  to  say.  And  there  was  potato  pone — 
sweet  potatoes  boiled,  kneaded,  cut  into  pones, 
and  baked.      And    then   there   was    callalou — a 


DESERTERS   AND    RUNAWAYS. 


123 


mixture  of  collards,  poke  salad,  and  turnip 
greens  boiled  for  dinner  and  fried  over  for  sup- 
per. This  was  the  invention  of  Jimsy,  an  old 
negro    brought    over    from    the    West    Indies, 


Zimzi. 


whose  real  name  was  Zimzi,  and  who  alwa3's 
ran  away  when  anybody  scolded  him. 

The  old-fashioned  loom  and  spinning-wheel 
were  kept  going,  and  the  women  made  their 
own  dyes.      The  girls  made  their  hats  of  rye 


124  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

and  wheat  straw,  and  some  very  pretty  bonnets 
were  made  of  the  fibrous  substance  that  grows 
in  the  vegetable  known  as  the  bonnet  squash. 

It  was  agreed  on  all  sides  that  times  were 
very  hard,  and  yet  they  seemed  very  pleasant 
and  comfortable  to  Joe  Maxwell,  He  had  never 
seen  money  more  plentiful.  Everybody  seemed 
to  have  some,  and  yet  nobody  had  enough.  It 
was  all  in  Confederate  bills,  and  they  were  all 
new  and  fresh  and  crisp.  Joe  had  some  of  it 
himself,  and  he  thought  he  was  growing  rich. 
But  the  more  plentiful  the  money  became,  the 
higher  went  the  price  of  everything. 

After  a  while  Joe  noticed  that  the  older  men 
became  more  serious.  There  were  complaints 
in  the  newspapers  of  speculators  and  extortion- 
ers— of  men  who  imposed  on  and  mistreated 
the  widows  and  wives  of  the  soldiers.  And 
then  there  was  a  law  passed  preventing  the 
farmers  from  planting  only  so  many  acres  of 
land  in  cotton,  in  order  that  more  food  might  be 
raised  for  the  army.  After  this  came  the  im- 
pressment law,  which  gave  the  Confederate  offi- 
cials the  right  to  seize  private  property,  horses, 
mules,  and  provisions.  And  then  came  the  con- 
scription law. 


DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS.  1 25 

There  was  discontent  among  the  men  who 
were  at  home,  but  they  were  not  left  to  make 
any  serious  complaints.  One  by  one  the  con- 
script officers  seized  all  except  those  who  were 
exempt  and  hurried  them  off  to  the  front. 
Those  who  thought  it  a  disgrace  to  be  con- 
scripted either  volunteered  or  hired  themselves 
as  substitutes. 

This  is  the  summing  up  of  the  first  three 
years  of  the  war,  so  far  as  it  affected  Joe  Max- 
well. The  impression  made  upon  him  was  of 
slow  and  gradual  growth.  He  only  knew  that 
trouble  and  confusion  were  abroad  in  the  land. 
He  could  see  afterward  what  a  lonely  and  des- 
perate period  it  must  have  been  to  those  who 
had  kinsmen  in  the  war ;  but,  at  that  time,  all 
these  things  were  as  remote  from  him  as  a 
dream  that  is  half  remembered.  He  set  up  the 
editor's  articles,  criticising  Governor  Joe  Brown 
for  some  attacks  he  had  made  on  the  Confeder- 
ate Government,  without  understanding  them 
fully ;  and  he  left  Mr.  Wall,  the  hatter,  who  was 
a  violent  secessionist,  to  discuss  the  situation 
with  Mr.  Bonner,  the  overseer,  who  was  a  Whig, 
and  something  of  a  Union  man. 

Late  one  afternoon,  after  listening  to  a  heated 


126  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

dispute  between  Mr.  Wall  and  Mr.  Bonner,  Joe 
concluded  that  he  would  take  a  run  in  the  fields 
with  the  harriers.  So  he  called  and  whistled 
for  them,  but  they  failed  to  come,  Harbert 
thought  they  had  followed  some  of  the  planta- 
tion hands,  but,  as  this  rarely  happened,  Joe 
was  of  the  opinion  that  they  had  gone  hunt- 
ing on  their  own  account.  The}^  were  very 
busy  and  restless  little  dogs,  and  it  was  not 
uncommon  for  them  to  go  rabbit-hunting  for 
themselves.  Going  toward  Mr,  Snelson's,  Joe 
thought  he  could  hear  them  running  a  rabbit 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  plantation.  He  went 
in  that  direction,  but  found,  after  a  while,  that 
they  were  running  in  the  Jack  Adams  place, 
and  as  he  went  nearer  they  seemed  to  get  far- 
ther away.  Finally,  when  he  did  come  up  with 
the  dogs,  he  found  that  they  were  not  the  har- 
riers at  all,  but  a  lot  of  curs  and  "  fices."  And 
then — how  it  happened  he  was  never  able  to 
explain — Joe  suddenly  discovered  that  he  was 
lost. 

Perhaps  if  the  idea  had  never  occurred  to 
him  he  would  never  have  been  lost,  but  the 
thought  flashed  in  his  mind  and  stayed  there. 
He   stood    still    in    his    tracks    and    looked   all 


DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS.  12/ 

around,  but  the  idea  that  he  was  really  lost 
confused  him.  He  was  not  frightened — he  was 
not  even  uneasy.  But  he  knew  he  was  lost. 
Everything  was  strange  and  confusing.  Even 
the  sun,  which  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed,  was 
in  the  wrong  place.  Joe  laughed  at  himself. 
Certainly  he  could  return  the  way  he  came,  so 
he  faced  about,  as  he  thought,  and  started 
home. 

Walking  and  running  he  went  forward  rap- 
idh',  and  he  had  need  to,  for  the  sun  had  gone 
behind  a  cloud,  and  the  cloud,  black  and  threat- 
ening, was  rising  and  filling  the  sky.  How  long 
he  had  been  going  Joe  did  not  know,  but  sud- 
denly he  found  himself  near  an  old  cabin.  It 
was  built  of  logs,  and  the  chimney,  which  had 
been  made  of  sticks  and  red  clay,  had  nearly 
fallen  down.  The  lad  knew  that  this  cabin  was 
neither  on  the  Turner  plantation  nor  on  the 
Jack  Adams  place.  He  had  never  heard  any  of 
the  negroes  allude  to  it,  and  he  realized  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  running  away  from  home. 

Near  the  deserted  house  were  the  remnants 
of  an  orchard.  A  pear-tree,  jagged  and  un- 
shapel}^  grew  not  far  from  the  door,  while  an 
apple-tree,  with  a  part  of  its  trunk  rotted  away, 


128  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

Stood  near  a  corner  of  the  cabin.  A  growth  of 
pines  and  scrub-oak  showed  that  the  place  had 
been  deserted  for  many  a  long  year.  A  quarter 
of  a  mile  away,  through  the  gathering  darkness, 
Joe  could  see  a  white  fringe  gleaming  against 
the  horizon.  He  knew  that  this  was  a  fog,  and 
that  it  rose  from  the  river.  Following  the  line 
of  the  fog,  he  could  see  that  the  cabin  was  in  a 
bend  of  the  river — the  Horseshoe,  as  he  had 
heard  it  called — and  he  knew  that  he  was  at 
least  four  miles  from  home.  By  this  time  the 
cloud  had  covered  all  the  heavens.  Away  off 
in  the  woods  he  could  hear  the  storm  coming, 
sounding  like  a  long-drawn  sigh  at  first,  and 
then  falling  with  a  sweeping  rush  and  roar. 
Joe  had  no  choice  but  to  seek  shelter  in  the  old 
house.  He  was  a  stout-hearted  youngster,  and 
yet  he  could  not  resist  the  feeling  of  uneasiness 
and  dread  that  came  over  him  at  the  thought  of 
spending  the  night  in  that  lonely  place.  But 
there  was  no  help  for  it.  He  could  never  find 
his  way  home  in  the  darkness,  and  so  he  made 
the  best  of  what  seemed  to  him  a  very  bad 
matter.  The  cabin  was  almost  a  wreck,  but  it 
served  to  keep  off  the  rain. 

Joe  went  in  and  explored  the  inside  as  care- 


DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS,  1 29 

fully  as  he  could  in  the  darkness.  A  wood-rat 
or  tijing-squirrel  rattled  along  the  ratters  as 
he  entered,  and  the  loose  puncheons  of  which 
the  floor  was  made  bumped  up  and  down  as  he 
walked  across  them.  In  one  corner,  as  he  went 
groping  about,  he  found  a  pile  of  shucks — corn- 
husks — and  straw,  and  he  judged  that  the  old 
cabin  had  sometimes  been  used  as  a  temporary 
barn.  After  satisfying  himself  that  no  other 
person  or  creature  had  taken  shelter  there,  Joe 
tried  to  close  the  door.  He  found  this  to  be 
a  difficult  matter.  The  sill  of  the  house  had 
settled  so  that  the  door  was  on  the  floor.  He 
pushed  it  as  far  as  it  would  go,  and  then  groped 
his  way  back  to  the  shucks  and  quickly  made 
a  bed  of  them.  He  was  fagged  out,  and  the 
shucks  and  straw  made  a  comfortable  pallet — so 
comfortable,  indeed,  that  by  the  time  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  it  was  a  pleasant  thing 
to  lie  there  and  listen  to  the  rain  rushing  down 
on  the  weather-beaten  roof,  he  was  fast  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  did  not  know,  but  sud- 
denly he  awoke  to  discover  that  he  was  not  the 
only  person  who  had  sought  shelter  in  the  cabin. 
The  rain  was  still  falling  on  the  roof,  but  he 
could  hear  some  one  talking  in  a  low  tone.     He 


130  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

lay  quite  still  and  listened  with  all  his  ears. 
He  soon  discovered  that  the  new-comers  were 
negroes,  whether  two  or  three  he  could  not 
tell.  Presently  he  could  distinguish  what  they 
said.  The  storm  had  ceased  so  that  it  no  longer 
drowned  their  voices. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  mon,"  said  one,  "  ole  Injun 
Bill  kin  run  ef  he  is  chunky." 

"  Lor  !  I  had  ter  run  ef  I  gwine  fer  keep  up 
wid  old  Mink."  said  the  other. 

"  Bless  you !  "  responded  the  first  voice,  "  I 
kin  run  when  I  git  de  invertation,  else  ole  Bill 
Locke  an'  his  nigger  dogs  would  a  done  cotch 
me  long  ago." 

"  Dey  ain't  been  atter  me,"  said  the  second 
voice,  "but  I'm  a  spectin'  un  um  eve'y  day,  an' 
when  dey  does — gentermen !  I'm  a-gwine  ter 
scratch  gravel !     You  hear  what  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  I  come  so  fas',"  remarked  the  first  voice, 
"  dat  all  dem  ar  buckeyes  what  I  had  done 
bounce  outer  my  pocket." 

"  What  you  gwine  fer  do  wid  so  many  buck- 
eyes ?  "  asked  the  second  voice. 

"  Who  ?  Me  !  Oh,  I  wuz  des  savin'  um  up  fer 
dat  ar  white  boy  what  stay  'long  wid  de  print- 
in'  machine,"  said  the  first  voice.     "  He  holp  me 


DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS.  I3I 

'lono-  one  time.  Harbert,  he  say  dat  white  boy 
is  des  ez  good  ter  niggers  ez  ef  dey  all  b'long 
ter  im,  an'  he  say  he  got  a  head  on  'im.  Dat 
what  Harbert  say." 

"  I  bin  see  'im,"  said  the  second  voice.  "  I 
don't  like  white  folks  myse'f,  but  I  speck  dat 
boy  got  good  in  'im.     He  come  fum  town." 

Joe  Maxwell  knew  at  once  that  one  of  the 
voices  belonged  to  Mink,  the  runaway,  and  he 
judged  that  the  other  belonged  to  Injun  Bill, 
whose  reputation  was  very  bad.  He  knew  also 
that  the  two  negroes  were  talking  about  him, 
and  he  was  not  only  gratified  at  the  compli- 
ments paid  him,  but  felt  safer  than  if  he  had 
been  alone  in  the  cabin.  In  a  spirit  of  mischief 
he  called  out  in  a  sepulchral  tone  of  voice: 
"  Where's  Mink  ?  I  want  Mink  !  " 
He  tried  to  imitate  the  tone  that  he  had 
heard  mothers  sometimes  employ  when  they 
are  trying  to  frighten  crying  children  into 
silence  with  the  bogie  man.  There  was  no 
reply  from  Mink,  but  Joe  could  hear  the  two 
negroes  breathing  hard.  Then,  imitating  the 
voice  of  a  woman,  he  cried  out : 

"Where's  Injun  Bill?     I  want  Injun  Bill!  " 
Imagining  how  horrified  the  negroes  were, 


132 


ON   THE   PLANTATION. 


and  how  they  looked  as  they  sat  on  the  floor 
quaking  with  terror,  Joe  could  not  restrain 
himself.  He  fell  into  a  fit  of  uncontrollable 
laughter  that  caused  him  to  scatter  the  shucks 
all  over  the  floor.     This  proceeding,  wholly  un- 


Injun  Bill,  whose  reputation  was  very  bad. 

accountable,  added  to  the  terror  of  the  negroes. 
Injun  Bill,  as  it  afterward  appeared,  made  a 
wild  leap  for  the  door,  but  his  foot  caught  in  a 
crack  in  the  floor  and  he  fell  headlong.     On  top 


DESERTERS   AND    RUNAWAYS.  1 33 

of  him  fell  Mink,  and  each  thought  he  had 
been  caught  by  the  thing  that  had  frightened 
him.  They  had  a  terrific  scuffle  on  the  ffoor, 
writhing  over  and  under  each  other  in  their 
effoits  to  escape.  Finally,  Mink,  who  was  the 
more  powerful  of  the  two,  pinned  Injun  Bill  to 
the  floor. 

"  Who  dis?"  he  cried,  breathing  hard  with 
fear  and  excitement. 

"  Me  !  Dat  who  'tis !  "  said  Injun  Bill, 
angrily.     "  What  you  doin'  'pon  top  er  me?  " 

This  complication  caused  Joe  Maxwell  to 
laugh  until  he  could  scarcely  catch  his  breath. 
But  at  last  he  managed  to  control  his  voice. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  goodness  are  you  two 
trying  to  do  ?" 

"  Name  er  de  Lord  !  "  exclaimed  Mink,  "  who 
is  you,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Dat  what  I  like  ter  know,"  said  Injun  Bill, 
in  a  surly  tone. 

"  Why,  you've  just  been  talking  about  me," 
replied  Joe.  "  I  lay  there  on  the  shucks  and 
heard  you  give  me  a  great  name." 

"  Is  dat  you,  little  marster  ? "  cried  Mink. 
"  Well,  suh  !  Ef  dat  don't  beat  my  time !  How 
come  you  sech  a  fur  ways  fum  yo'  surroundin's  ?  " 

10 


134  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

Joe  explained  as  briefly  as  possible  that  he 
was  lost. 

"  Well,  well,  well !  "  said  Mink,  by  way  of 
comment.  "  You  sholy  gimme  a  turn  dat  time. 
Little  mo'  an'  I'd  a  thought  de  ole  boy  had  me. 
Ef  I'd  a  bin  by  myse'f  when  I  hear  dat  callin'  I 
lay  I'd  'a  to'  down  de  whole  side  er  de  house. 
Dish  yer  nigger  'long  wid  me,  little  marster,  he 
name  Injun  Bill.     He  say — " 

"  'Sh — sh  !  "  said  Injun  Bill,  softly.  Then  in 
a  whisper — "  watch  out !  " 

Joe  was  about  to  say  something,  but  sud- 
denly he  heard  the  sound  of  approaching  foot- 
steps. The  negroes  by  a  noiseless  movement 
stepped  close  against  the  wall.  Joe  lay  still. 
The  new-comers  entered  the  door  without 
hesitation.  They  had  evidently  been  there 
before. 

"  I'll  take  an'  put  my  gun  in  the  corner  here," 
said  one.  "  Now,  don't  go  blunderin'  aroun'  an' 
knock  it  over  ;  it  might  go  off." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  other.  "  Where  is  it? 
I'll  put  mine  by  it." 

Then  they  seemed  to  be  unfastening  their 
belts. 

"  Hain't  you  got  a  match  ? "  said  one.     "  I'm 


DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS.  1 35 

as  wet  as  a  drownded  rat.  I've  got  some  kindlin' 
somewheres  about  my  cloze.  My  will,  ef  I  had 
it  fried,"  he  went  on,  "  would  be  to  be  set  down 
in  front  of  a  great  big  fireplace  adryin'  myse'f, 
an'  a  knowin'  all  the  time  that  a  great  big  tray 
of  hot  biscuit  an'  'leven  pounds  of  butter  was  a 
waitin'  for  me  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Thunderation !  "  exclaimed  the  other, "  don't 
talk  that  way.  You  make  me  so  nervous  I  can't 
find  the  matches." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  first,  "  I  was  jist  a  think- 
in'  about  eatin'.  I  wish  Mink  'ud  come  on  ef 
he's  a-comin'." 

"  I  done  come,  Mars  John,"  said  Mink. 

"  Confound  your  black  hide  !  "  exclaimed 
the  man ;  "  if  I  had  my  gun  I'd  shoot  a  hole 
spang  throo  you  !  Whadder  you  want  to  skeer 
me  outn  a  year's  growth  for?  If  you're  here, 
whyn't  you  sesso  befo'  you  spoke  ?  " 

"  Kaze  I  got  comp'ny,"  said  Mink. 

The  man  gave  a  long  whistle,  denoting  sur- 
prise. "Who've  you  got?"  he  asked,  almost 
savagely. 

"  Injun  Bill." 

"  Who  else  ?  " 

"  A  white  boy." 


136  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

"  Well,  the  great  snakes !  What  sort  of 
game  is  you  up  to  ?     Who  is  the  white  boy  ?  " 

"  He  stay  on  the  Turner  plantation  at  de 
printin'-office,"  explained  Mink. 

"  You  hear  that,  don't  you  ?  "  said  the  man 
to  his  companion.  "  And  now  it'll  all  be  in  the 
paper." 

"  Bosh  !  "  exclaimed  Joe.  "  I  don't  know 
you  from  a  side  of  sole-leather.  I  got  lost 
while  rabbit-hunting,  and  came  in  here  out  of 
the  rain." 

"  He's  a  peart-talkin'  chap,"  said  the  man 
who  wanted  to  eat  a  trayful  of  hot  biscuits  and 
eleven  pounds  of  butter. 

"  He  came  fum  town,"  said  Mink,  by  way  of 
explaining  Joe's  "  peartness." 

"  How  long  since  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  men. 

"  Two  years  ago,"  said  Joe. 

After  a  little,  one  of  the  men  succeeded  in 
finding  a  match,  and  making  a  light  with  the 
pine  kindhngs  that  one  of  the  two  had  brought. 
In  a  corner  Mink  found  some  pieces  of  dry 
wood  and  the  small  company  soon  had  a  fire 
burning.  The  weather  was  not  cold,  but  the 
fire  must  have  been  very  agreeable  to  the  white 
men,    who,   as   one    of    them  expressed   it,  was 


DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS.  1 3/ 

"  wringin'  wet."  These  men  took  advantage  of 
the  first  opportunity  to  examine  Joe  Maxwell 
very  closely.  They  had  evidently  expected  to 
find  a  much  more  formidable-looking  person 
than  he  appeared  to  be,  for  one  of  them  re- 
marked to  the  other : 

"  Why,  he  hain't  bigger'n  a  pound  er  soap 
arter  a  hard  day's  washin'." 

"  Naw  !  "  said  the  other.  "  I've  saw  'im  be- 
fo'.  He's  that  little  rooster  that  useter  be  run- 
nin'  roun'  town  gittin'  in  all  sorts  er  devilment. 
I  reckon  he's  sorter  out  er  his  element  here  in 
the  country." 

"  I've  seen  you,  too,"  said  Joe.  "  I've  seen 
both  of  you.  I  used  to  see  you  drilling  in  the 
Hillsborough  Rifles.  I  was  at  the  depot  when 
the  company  went  off  to  the  w^ar." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  in  a  pe- 
culiar way,  and  busied  themselves  trying  to  dry 
their  clothes  by  the  fire,  standing  close  to  the 
flickering  flames.  They  were  not  handsome 
men,  and  yet  they  were  not  ill  looking.  One 
was  short  and  stout,  with  black  hair.  He  had  a 
scar  under  one  of  his  eyes  that  did  not  improve 
his  appearance.  But  the  expression  of  his  face 
was  pleasant  in  spite  of  this  defect.     The  other 


138  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

was  thin,  tall,  and  stoop-shouldered.  His  beard 
was  scanty  and  red,  and  his  upper  teeth  pro- 
truded to  such  an  extent  that  when  his  face  was 
in  repose  they  were  exposed  to  view.  But 
there  was  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that 
found  an  echo  in  his  talk.  Both  men  were 
growing  gray.  The  dark  man  was  Jim  Wim- 
berly,  the  other  John  Pruitt,  and  both  had  evi- 
dently seen  hard  times.  Soldier-fashion,  they 
made  seats  for  themselves  by  sticking  the  ends 
of  loose  boards  through  the  cracks,  and  allow- 
ing the  other  ends  to  rest  on  the  floor.  Thus 
they  could  sit  or  lie  at  full  length  as  they  chose. 
Joe  fixed  a  seat  for  himself  in  the  same  way, 
while  Mink  and  Injun  Bill  sat  on  the  fioor  on 
each  side  of  the  fireplace. 

"  What  do  you  call  those  here  fellers,"  asked 
Mr.  Pruitt,  lighting  his  pipe  with  a  splinter,  and 
turning  to  Joe — ''  these  here  fellers  what  jines 
inter  the  army  an'  then  comes  home  arter 
awhile  without  lief  or  license  ?  " 

"  Deserters,"  replied  Joe,  simply. 

"  So  fur,  so  good,"  said  Mr.  Pruitt.  "  Now, 
then,  what  do  you  call  the  fellers  what  jines 
inter  the  army  arter  they'er  been  told  that 
their  families'U  be  took  keer  -of    an'  provided 


DESERTERS   AND   RUNAWAYS.  1 39 

fer  by  the  rich  folks  at  home  ;  an'  then,  arter 
they'er  been  in  a  right  smart  whet,  they  gits 
word  that  their  wives  an'  children  is  a  lookin* 
starvation  in  the  face,  an'  stedder  gittin'  better 
it  gets  wuss,  an'  bimeby  they  breaks  loose  an' 
comes  home  ?  Now  what  sort  er  fellers  do  you 
call  them  ?  Hold  on  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pruitt,  as 
Joe  was  about  to  reply.  "  Wait !  They  hain't 
got  no  money  an'  no  niggers ;  they  hain't  got 
nothin'  but  a  little  piece  er  Ian'.  They  goes  off 
expectin'  their  wives'U  be  took  keer  of,  an' 
they,  comes  home  an'  fines  'em  in  the  last 
stages.     What  sorter  fellers  do  you  call  them  ? " 

"  Well,"  Joe  replied,  "  I've  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing  before." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Pruitt,  '*  an'  I'm  mighty  sorry 
you've  heard  about  it  now.  It  ain't  a  purty 
tale." 

"Who  are  the  men?"  Joe  asked. 

"Yours,  respectfully,  John  Pruitt  an'  Jeems 
Wimberly,  Ashbank  deestrict,  Hillsborough 
Post-office,  State  of  Georgia,"  said  Mr.  Pruitt, 
solemnly. 

Joe  had  heard  it  hinted  and  rumored  that 
in  some  cases,  especially  where  they  lived  re- 
mote  from  the  relief  committees,  the   families 


I40  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

of  the  soldiers  were  not  so  well  provided  for  as 
they  had  a  right  to  expect.  He  had  even  set 
up  some  editorials  in  The  Coufitryman  which 
hinted  that  there  was  suffering  among  the 
soldiers'  wives  and  children ;  but  he  never 
dreamed  that  it  was  serious  enough  to  create 
discontent  among  the  soldiers.  The  story  that 
Mr.  Pruitt  and  his  companion  told  amazed  Joe 
Maxwell,  but  it  need  not  be  repeated  here  in 
detail.  It  amounted  to  this,  that  the  two  sol- 
diers had  deserted  because  their  wives  and 
children  were  suffering  for  food  and  clothing, 
and  now  they  were  fugitives. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE   STORY-TELLERS. 

The  strange  company  was  silent  for  a  long 
time.  Mr.  Pruitt  and  Mr.  Wimberl)^  sat  with 
their  elbows  on  their  knees  and  their  faces  in 
their  hands,  and  gazed  into  the  fireplace,  while 
the  two  negroes,  true  to  their  nature,  began  to 
nod  as  the  talking  ceased.  The  silence  at  last 
became  painful  to  Joe  Maxwell. 

"  Mink,"  he  said,  "  suppose  you  should  hear 
somebody  coming,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  wuz  des  worryin'  'bout  dat  'while  ago," 
replied  the  stalwart  negro,  passing  his  hand 
swiftly  across  his  face.  "  I  'speck  I'd  be  like 
de  ole  sheep  you  hear  talk  about  in  de  tale." 

"  What  was  the  tale  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Oh,  'tain't  no  long  tale,"  said  Mink.  "  One 
time  dey  wuz  er  ole  sheep  what  had  two  chil- 
luns.  She  call  um  up  one  day  an'  tell  um  dat 
dey  better  keep  a  sharp  lookout  whiles  dey  er 


142 


ON   THE   PLANTATION. 


eatin',  kaze  ef  dey  don't  sumpin'  n'er  sholy  gwine 
git  um.  Dey  say  '  Yessum,'  an'  dey  went  ter 
frolickin'  up  an'  down  de  fiel'.  Bimeby  dey 
come  runnin'  back,  an'  'low  : 

"  '  Oh,  mammy,  yon's  a  man  !      Mus'  we-all 
run? ' 


"  Dey  went  ter  frolickin'  up  an'  down  de  fiel'." 

"  Ole  mammy  sheep,  she  'low:  'No!  Go 
'long  and  play.' 

"  Atter  while,  dey  come  runnin'  back  an' 
low  :  '  Mammy,  mammy  !  yon's  a  hoss  !  Mus' 
we-all  run  ? ' 

"  Ole  mammy  sheep  'low :  '  'G'way  frum 
here  !     Go  on  an'  play.* 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  143 

"  Bimeby  dey  come  runnin'  back.  '  Mammy, 
mammy  !  yon's  a  cow  !     Mus'  we-all  run?' 

"  Ole  mammy  sheep  say  :  '  Go  on  an'  play, 
an'  quit  yo'  behavishness  ! ' 

"  Atter  while  dey  come  runnin'  back.  '  Mam- 
my !  oh,  mammy  !  yon's  a  dog !  Mus'  we-all 
run  ?' 

" '  Yes,  yes  !     Run,  chillun,  run  ! ' 

"  Dat  de  way  wid  me,"  said  Mink.  "  Ef  I 
wuz  ter  hear  some  un  comin'  I  wouldn't  know 
whedder  ter  set  still  an'  nod,  or  whedder  ter 
break  an'  run." 

"  That  hain't  much  of  a  tale,"  remarked  Mr. 
Pruitt,  "  but  ther's  a  mighty  heap  er  sense  in 
it,  shore." 

"  Shoo  !  "  exclaimed  Mink,  "  dat  ain't  no  tale. 
You  oughter  hear  dish  yer  Injun  Bill  tell  um. 
He  kin  set  up  an'  spit  um  out  all  night  long. 
— Bill,"  said  he,  turning  to  his  companion,  "  tell 
um  dat  un  'bout  how  de  mountains  come 
'bout." 

*'  Oh,  I  can't  tell  de  tale,"  said  Injun  Bill, 
marking  nervously  in  the  floor  with  a  splinter. 
"  Ef  I  could  tell  dem  like  my  daddy,  den  dat  'ud 
sorter  be  like  sumpin'.  Me  an'  my  mammy 
come  frum  Norf  Ca'liny.    My  daddy  wuz  Injun, 


144  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

Ef  you  could  hear  him  tell  dem  tales,  he'd  make 
you  open  yo'  eyes." 

"  How  wuz  de  mountains  made,  Bill.?  "  asked 
Mink,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  it  like  my  daddy,"  said 
Bill.  "  He  wuz  Cher'kee  Injun,  an'  he  know 
all  'bout  it,  kaze  he  say  de  Injuns  wuz  here 
long  time  fo'  de  white  folks  wuz,  let  'lone  de 
niggers. 

"  Well,  one  time  dey  wuz  a  great  big  flood. 
Hit  rain  so  hard  an'  it  rain  so  long  dat  it  fair 
kivver  de  face  er  de  yeth.  Dey  wuz  lots  mo' 
water  dan  what  dey  is  in  our  kind  er  freshets, 
an'  it  got  so  atter  while  dat  de  folks  had  ter 
find  some  place  whar  dey  kin  stay,  kaze  ef  dey 
don't  dey  all  be  drownded,  dem  an'  de  cree- 
turs,  too. 

"  Well,  one  day  de  big  Injun  man  call  dem 
all  up,  an'  say  dey  got  ter  move.  So  dey  tuck 
der  cloze  an'  der  pots  an'  der  pans  an'  foUer 
'long  atter  de  big  Injun,  an'  de  creeters  dey 
come  'long,  too.  Dey  march  an'  dey  march,  an' 
bimeby  dey  come  whar  dey  wuz  a  big  hole  in 
de  groun'.  Dey  march  in  an'  de  big  Injun  he 
stay  behine  fer  stop  up  de  hole  so  de  water 
can't  leak  in.     'Twant  long  'fo'  dey  know  dey 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  I45 

wuz  in  de  middle  er  de  worl',  deep  down  under 
de  groun',  an'  dey  had  plenty  room.  Dey  built 
der  fires  an'  cook  der  vittles  des  same  ez  ef 
dey'd  a  been  on  top  er  de  groun'. 

"  Dey  stayed  in  dar  I  dunner  how  long,  an' 
bimeby  dey  got  tired  er  stayin'  in  dar,  an'  dey 
want  ter  come  out.  Some  un  um  went  off  fer 
hunt  fer  de  hole  whar  dey  come  in  at,  but  dey 
can't  fine  it,  an'  den  dey  say  dey  skeered  dey 
ain't  never  gwine  ter  git  out.  But  de  big  Injun 
say  dey  plenty  time,  kaze  fo'  dey  go  out  dey 
got  ter  know  whedder  de  rain  done  stop.  He 
say  ef  de  smoke  kin  git  out  dey  kin  git  out. 
Den  dey  ax  'im  how  he  gwine  fine  out  'bout 
de  rain,  an'  he  say  he  gwine  sen'  some  er  de 
creeturs  fer  fine  de  hole  whar  de  smoke  go  out, 
an'  see  'bout  de  rain. 

"  Den  de  big  Injun  he  went  off  by  hisse'f  an' 
study  an'  study  how  he  gwine  fine  de  hole  whar 
de  smoke  go  out.  He  sent  de  dog— de  dog 
can't  fine  it.  He  sent  de  coon— de  coon  can't 
fine  it.  He  sent  de  rabbit— de  rabbit  can't  fine 
it.  Den  he  went  off  by  hisse'f  an'  study  some 
mo',  an'  'bout  dat  time  de  buzzud  come  'long  an' 
he  ax  de  big  Injun  what  make  him  look  so  lone- 
some.    Den  de  big  Injun  tell  de  buzzud  'bout 


146 


ON    THE    PLANTATION, 


"  De  buzzud  ax  de  big  Injun  what  make  him  look  so  lonesome." 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  I47 

'im  tryin'  fer  fine  de  hole  vvhar  de  smoke  went 
fru.  De  buzzud  he  'low  dat  him  an'  his  ole 
'oman  kin  fine  it,  an'  den  de  big  Injun  tuck  an' 
sent  um  ofT. 

"  Dej  riz  up,  de  buzzuds  did,  an'  flewd  de 
way  de  smoke  went.  Dey  flewd  up  an'  dey 
flewd  down,  an'  dey  flewd  all  'roun'  an'  'roun,' 
but  dey  ain't  seed  no  hole  whar  de  smoke  go 
out  at.  Den  dey  come  back,  an'  dis  make  de 
big  Injun  feel  mo'  lonesomer  dan  befo'.  He 
study  an'  he  study,  un'  bimeby  he  sent  um  out 
agin,  an'  tole  um  ter  go  high  ez  dey  kin  an'  spy 
out  de  hole. 

"  So  dey  riz  an'  flewd  up  agin,  an'  dis  time 
dey  flewd  right  agin  de  top  er  de  yeth,  up  an' 
down  an'  'roun'  an'  'roun'.  It  bin  rainin'  so  long 
dat  de  crust  er  de  yeth  wuz  done  wet  plum  fru, 
an'  it  wuz  saft,  an'  when  dey  struck  agin  it  dey 
made  de  print  whar  dey  bin  flyin'.  Bimeby, 
de  old  man  buzzud,  he  got  mad,  an'  he  sail 
'roun'  twel  he  git  a  good  start,  an'  den  he  plow 
right  'long  agin  de  roof.  De  ol'  'oman  buzzud, 
she  done  de  same,  an'  bimeby  dey  fine  de  hole 
whar  de  smoke  went  out.  Dey  peeped  out,  dey 
did,  an'  dey  seed  dat  de  rain  done  stop,  but  it 
monstus  damp  outside. 


148  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

"  Den  dey  went  back  an'  de  big  Injun  feel 
mighty  good  kaze  dey  done  fine  de  hole.  After 
so  long  a  time  he  giv  de  word,  an'  dey  all 
marched  out  fum  de  inside  er  de  yeth  an'  went 
back  ter  whar  dey  useter  live.  It  tuck  um  a 
mighty  long  time  ter  fine  de  place,  kaze  when 
dey  went  away  de  Ian'  wuz  level,  but  when  dey 
come  back  hit  wuz  full  er  hills  an'  mountains 
dat  look  like  great  big  bumps  an'  long  ridges. 
Dey  ax  dey  se'f  how  come  dis,  an'  dey  study 
an'  study.  Bimeby  de  buzzud,  he  up'n  say  dat 
dem  wuz  de  print  he  lef  when  him  an'  his  ole 
'oman  wuz  a-flyin'  roun'  tryin'  fer  fine  de  hole 
whar  de  smoke  went  out.  De  groun'  wuz  saft, 
an'  eve'y  time  de  buzzuds  'ud  fly  agin  it  dey'd 
make  hills  an'  mountains.  Dat  what  my  daddy 
say,"  said  Injun  Bill,  decisively.  "  He  wuz  Injun 
man,  an'  he  oughter  know  ef  anybody  do." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wim- 
berly,  who,  up  to  this  time,  had  said  nothing. 
"  Mix  Injun  wi'  nigger  an'  they  hain't  no  kind 
er  rigamarole  they  won't  git  up." 

They  all  agreed,  however,  that  Injun  Bill's 
story  was  amusing,  and  after  a  while  Mink  said : 

"  I  speck  Marse  John  dar  mought  match  dat 
tale  ef  he  wuz  ter  try  right  hard." 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  I49 

Mr.  Pruitt  turned  his  pocket  inside  out  to 
get  some  tobacco-crumbs  for  his  pipe. 

"  Buddy,"  he  remarked,  turning  to  Joe  Max- 
well, "did  you  ever  hear  tell  how  the  fox  gits 
rid  er  fleas  ?  " 

Joe  had  never  heard. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Pruitt,  "  it's  this  away. 
When  the  fox,  speshually  ef  it's  one  er  these 
here  big  reds,  gits  full  er  fleas,  which  they  er 
bleedze  ter  do  in  hot  weather,  he  puts  out  an' 
goes  tell  he  finds  a  flock  er  sheep.  Then  he 
runs  in  amongst  'em,  an'  runs  along  by  the 
side  er  one  tell  he  gits  a  chance  ter  pull  a 
mouffle  er  wool  out.  Then  he  makes  a  break 
fer  the  creek  an'  finds  him  a  wash -hole  an' 
wades  in. 

"  He  don't,  ez  you  may  say,  splunge  in.  He 
jest  wades  in,  a  little  bit  at  a  time.  Fust  he  gits 
in  up  ter  his  knees,  an'  then  he  goes  in  deeper 
an'  deeper.  But  he  hain't  in  no  hurry.  When 
the  water  strikes  the  fleas,  nachally  they  start  fer 
high-water  mark.  The  fox  feels  'em  crawl  up, 
an'  then  he  goes  in  a  little  deeper.  When  they 
crawl  up  ez  high  ez  his  back  he  goes  in  furder, 
an'  then  they  crawl  to'rds  his  head.  He  gits  a 
little  deeper,  an'  they  crawl   out  on  his  nose. 


11 


150  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

Then  he  gits  deeper,  tell  they  hain't  nothin'  out 
er  the  water  but  the  pint  er  his  nose. 

"  Now  all  this  time  he's  got  that  chunk  er 
wool  in  his  mouf,  an'  when  the  fleas  hain't  got 
nowheres  else  ter  go  they  make  fer  that.  Then 
when  the  fleas  is  all  in  the  wool,  the  lox  drops 
it  in  the  water,  comes  out,  shakes  hisse'f,  an' 
trots  off  ter  do  some  other  devilment." 

"  Dat  cert'ny  is  one  way  fer  ter  git  red  er 
fleas,"  exclaimed  Mink,  laughing  heartily.  Then 
he  turned  to  Injun  Bill. 

"  Bill,  what  tale  is  dat  I  been  hear  you  tell 
'bout  ole  Brer  Rabbit  an'  de  overcoat  ?  Dat 
ain't  no  nigger  tale." 

"  Naw  !  "  said  Injun  Bill,  contemptuously. 
"  Dat  ain't  no  nigger  tale.  My  daddy  tell  dat 
tale,  an'  he  wa'nt  no  nigger.  I  wish  I  could  tell 
it  like  I  near  him  tell  it." 

"  How  did  it  go  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wimberly. 

"  Well,"  said  Injun  Bill,  rolling  his  eyes  to- 
ward the  rafters,  "  it  sorter  run  dis  way,  nigh  ez 
I  kin  reckermember :  De  time  wuz  when  Mr. 
Beaver  wuz  de  boss  er  all  de  creeturs.  He 
wa'nt  de  biggest  ner  de  strongest,  but  he  wuz 
mighty  smart.  Fine  cloze  make  fine  folks  in 
dem  days,  an'  dat  what  Mr.  Beaver  had.    Eve'y- 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  151 

body  know  him  by  his  fine  overcoat.  He  look 
slick  all  de  week,  an'  he  mighty  perlite — he  ain't 
never  fergit  his  manners.  Mr.  Rabbit  see  all 
dis  an'  it  make  'im  feel  jealous.  He  dunner  how 
come  Mr.  Beaver  kin  be  sech  a  big  man,  an'  he 
study  how  he  gwine  make  hisse'f  populous  wid 
de  yuther  creeturs. 

"  One  time  dey  all  make  it  up  dat  dey  wuz 
gwine  ter  have  a  big  meetin',  an'  so  dey  'gun 
ter  fix  up.  De  word  went  'roun'  an'  all  de 
creeturs  make  ready  ter  come.  Mr.  Beaver  he 
live  up  in  de  mountains,  an'  it  wuz  lots  mo'  dan 
a  day's  journey  fum  his  house  ter  de  place  whar 
de  creeturs  gwine  ter  hoi'  der  big  meetin'.  But 
he  waz  bleedze  ter  be  dar,  kaze  he  de  head  man. 
Ole  Mr.  Rabbit  'low  ter  hisse'f  dat  sumpin'  got 
ter  be  done,  an'  dat  mighty  quick,  an'  so  he  put 
out  fer  Mr.  Beaver  house.  Mr.  Rabbit  sho  is  a 
soon  mover,  mon,  an'  he  git  dar  in  little  er  no 
time.  He  say  dey  all  so  'fraid  Mr.  Beaver  ain't 
comin'  ter  de  meetin'  dat  dey  sont  'im  atter  'im, 
an'  he  help  Mr.  Beaver  pack  his  kyarpet-bag, 
an'  went  on  back  wid  'im  fer  comp'ny. 

''  Mr.  Beaver  can't  git  'long  ez  peart  ez  Mr. 
Rabbit,  kaze  he  so  fat  an'  chunky,  yit  he  don't 
lose  no  time  ;  he  des  keep   gwine   fum   sunup 


152  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

ter  sundown.  Des  'fo'  dark  dey  come  ter  whar 
dey  wuz  a  river,  an'  Mr,  Rabbit,  he  'low  dey 
better  camp  out  on  de  bank,  an'  git  soon  start  in 
de  mornin'.  So  dey  built  up  a  fier,  an'  cook  der 
supper,  an'  'bout  de  time  dey  wuz  gittin'  ready 
ter  go  ter  bed  Mr.  Rabbit  'low  : 

" '  Brer  Beaver,  I  mighty  feared  we  gwine 
ter  have  trouble  dis  night ! '  Mr.  Beaver  say, 
'  How  comes  so.  Brer  Rabbit  ? ' 

"  Mr.  Rabbit  'low  :  '  Dis  country  what  we  er 
in  is  called  Rainin'  Hot  Embers,  an'  I  don't  like 
no  sech  name.  Dat  de  reason  I  wanter  stop 
close  ter  water.' 

"  Mr.  Beaver  ax,  '  What  de  name  er  good- 
ness we  gwine  do,  Brer  Rabbit  ? ' 

"  Mr.  Rabbit  sorter  scratch  his  head  an'  say, 
*  Oh,  we  des  got  ter  put  up  wid  it,  an'  do  de 
bes'  we  kin.'  Den  he  sorter  study,  an'  'low  :  '  I 
speck  you  better  pull  off  dat  fine  overcoat  er 
yourn,  Brer  Beaver,  an'  hang  it  up  in  de  tree 
dar,  kaze  ef  de  wuss  come  ter  de  wuss,  you 
sholy  want  ter  save  dat.' 

"  Den  Mr.  Beaver  tuck  off  his  overcoat  an' 
hang  it  up  in  de  tree,  an'  after  while  dey  lay 
down  fer  ter  take  a  nap.  Mr.  Rabbit  he  stay 
wake,  but  twa'nt  long  'fo'  Mr.  Beaver  wuz  done 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  I  53 

gone  ter  sleep  an'  snorin'  right  along.  He  sno' 
so  loud  dat  Mr.  Rabbit  laugh  ter  hisse'f,  an' 
'low  :  '  Hey !  Ole  Brer  Beaver  pumpin'  thun- 
der fer  dry  wedder,  but  we  gwine  ter  have 
some  rain,  an'  it'll  be  a  mighty  hot  rain,  mon.' 

"  Den  Mr.  Rabbit  raise  hisse'f  on  his  elbow 
an'  look  at  Mr.  Beaver.  He  soun'  asleep,  an'  he 
keep  on  a  snorin'.  Mr.  Rabbit  got  up  easy,  an' 
slipped  roun'  an'  got  'im  a  great  big  piece  er 
bark,  an'  den  he  slip  back  ter  de  fier  an'  run  de 
piece  er  bark  un'  de  hot  embers  des  like  it  wuz 
a  shovel.  He  flung  um  up  in  de  air,  he  did,  an' 
holler  out : 

"  '  Run  fer  de  water,  Brer  Beaver  !  nm  fer  de 
water !  It's  a  rainin'  hot  embers  !  Run,  Brer 
Beaver !  run ! ' 

"  De  hot  embers  drapped  on  Mr.  Beaver,  an' 
he  scuffled  'bout  mightily.  Time  Mr.  Rabbit 
hollered,  he  flung  an'er  shower  er  embers  on  'im, 
an'  Mr.  Beaver  gun  one  loud  squall  an'  splunged 
inter  de  water  head  over  heels.  Mr.  Rabbit 
grab  de  fine  overcoat  an'  run  down  de  bank 
twel  he  come  ter  whar  dey  wuz  a  canoe,  an'  he 
got  in  dat  an'  went  cross,  an'  den  he  put  out  ter 
whar  de  creeturs  gwine  ter  hoi'  der  big  meetin'. 
Des  'fo'  he  got  dar,  he  put  on  de  overcoat,  an' 


154  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

he  ain't  do  it  none  too  soon,  nudder,  kaze  some 
un  um  had  done  got  so  unpatient  'long  er  wait- 
in'  fer  Mr.  Beaver  dat  dey  went  out  on  de  road 
a  little  fer  ter  meet  'im. 


Brer  Rabbit  preaches. 

"  De  overcoat  wuz  lots  too  big  fer  Mr.  Rab- 
bit, but  it  bin  sech  a  long  time  sence  de  creeturs 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  1 55 

had  seed  Mr.  Beaver  dat  it  look  all  right  ter 
dem,  an'  so  dey  gallanted  Mr.  Rabbit  ter  de 
meetin'-place  same  like  he  wuz  big  man  ez  Mr. 
Beaver.  Dey  tuck  'im  dar  an'  gallanted  'im  up 
on  de  flatform,  an'  sot  'im  down  in  de  big  cheer, 
an'  made  'im  de  boss  er  de  meetin'.  Mr.  Rab- 
bit 'gun  ter  speak  an'  tell  um  he  mighty  much 
'blige  fer  all  deze  favers,  an'  'bout  dat  time  Mr. 
Fox  'low : 

"  '  Hey  !     Mr.  Beaver  done  los'  his  voice  ! ' 

"  Mr.  Rabbit  say  he  can't  have  no  talkin',  an' 
he  kep  on  wid  his  speech.  Bimeby  Mr.  Wolf 
say  :  '  Hey  !  Mr.  Beaver  bin  sick,  kaze  his  cloze 
ain't  fit  'im.'  Mr.  Rabbit  say  he  bleeze  ter  have 
order  in  de  'sembly,  an'  he  go  on  wid  his  speech. 
'Twan't  long  'fo'  Mr.  Fox  jump  an'  holler  out : 

"  '  Hey  !  Mr.  Beaver  done  bought  'im  some 
new  years ! ' 

"  Mr.  Rabbit  cock  up  one  eye,  an'  see  dat 
bofe  er  his  long  years  done  come  out  fum  un'  de 
overcoat,  an'  den  he  know  dat  he  better  be 
gwine.  He  make  er  break,  he  did,  an'  bounced 
off'n  de  flatform,  an'  start  fer  de  bushes,  but 
some  er  de  yuther  creeturs  head  'im  off  an* 
kotched  'im,  an'  den  dey  tuck  'im  an'  tried  'im, 
an'  de  jedge  what  sot  on  'im  say  he  mus'  have 


156  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

mark  on  'im  so  he  can't  fool  um  no  mo'.  Den 
dey  tuck  er  sharp  flint  rock  an'  split  his  up- 
per lip,  an'  dat  how  de  rabbits  is  got  der  lip 
split." 

"  Shoo  !  "  said  Mink.  "  Dat  Injun  rabbit. 
Nigger  rabbit  would  'a'  fooled  dem  creeturs 
right  straight  along,  an'  he  wouldn't  'a'  bin 
cotch,  nudder." 

"Jim,"  said  Mr.  Pruittto  Mr.  Wimberly, 
"  would  it  strain  you  too  much  ter  whirl  in  an' 
tell  us  a  tale  ?  We  wanter  show  this  young  un 
here  that  country  folks  hain't  ez  no  'count  ez 
they  look  ter  be." 

"  Jesso ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wimberly,  with 
much  animation.  "  I  wuz  jest  a-thinkin'  about 
one  that  popped  in  my  min'.  It  ain't  much  of  a 
tale,  but  it  tickled  me  might'ly  when  I  fust 
heard  it,  an'  I  hain't  never  fergot  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Pruitt,  "  out  wi'  it.  It  ain't 
nigh  bedtime,  an'  ef  it  wuz  we  hain't  got  no  beds 
ter  go  ter — that  is,  we  hain't  got  none  ter  speak 
of." 

"  One  time,"  Mr.  Wimberly  began,  smacking 
his  lips,  "  there  wuz  a  man  what  took  the  idee 
that  he  had  done  gone  an'  larnt  ever'  blessid 
thing  under  the  sun  that  thar'  wuz  ter  larn,  and 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  15/ 

it  worried  him  might'ly.  He  took  the  idee  wi' 
'im  ever'whar  he  went.  Folks  called  'im  Ole 
Man  Know-all.  He  sarched  in  ever'  hole  an' 
cornder  arter  sump'n  that  he  didn't  know,  but, 
hunt  whar  he  would  an'  when  he  might,  he 
couldn't  fin'  it.  It  looked  like  he  know'd  ever'- 
thing  ther'  wuz  an'  had  been.  Nobody  couldn't 
tell  'im  nothin'  that  he  didn't  know,  an'  it  made 
'im  feel  mighty  lonesome.  He  studied  an' 
studied,  an'  at  last  he  said  ter  hisse'f,  sezee,  that 
ef  thar'  wan't  nothin'  more  fer  'im  ter  larn,  he 
jest  might  ez  well  lay  down  an'  die.  He  said 
ter  hisse'f,  sezee,  that  may  be  Grandsir  Death 
could  larn  'im  sumpin.     Jesso  ! 

"  Well,  he  went  home  one  night  an'  built 
'im  up  a  big  fire  an'  fixed  his  pallet  an'  lay 
down.  '  I  won't  lock  the  door,'  sezee  ;  '  I'll 
jist  leave  it  onlatched  so  Grandsir  Death  can 
come  in,  an'  maybe  he  can  larn  me  sump'n.' 
Jesso  ! 

"  Ole  Man  Know-all  lay  thar  on  the  pallet  an' 
waited.  He'd  doze  a  little  an'  then  he'd  wake 
up,  an'  he  rolled  an'  tossed  about  tell  purty  nigh 
day.  He  wan't  oneasy,  so  to  speak,  but  he  wuz 
^pighty  restless.  To'rds  mornin'  he  heard  some 
un  knock  on  his  door — bam-bam  !  bam-bam !    He 


158  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

wan't  skeered,  but  he  got  right  weak.  His 
mouth  got  dry,  an'  a  big  holler  place  come  in 
his  stomach.  He  sez  ter  hisse'f,  sezee,  '  Shorely 
that's  Grandsir  Death  at  the  door.'  Then  he 
kivvered  up  his  head  an'  shuck  all  over.  'Twan't 
long  'fo'  the  knock  come  agin  : 

"  Bim-bim  !  bim-bim  !  bim  ! 

"  Ole  Man  Know-all  thought  his  time  wuz 
done  come,  certain  an'  shore,  an'  so  he  hol- 
lered : 

"  '  Come  in  ! ' 

"  The  door  opened,  but  stedder  it's  bein' 
Grandsir  Death  it  wuz  a  little  nigger  boy.  Ole 
Man  Know-all  sez,  sezee  : 

"  '  What  you  want  this  time  er  night  ? ' 

"  The  little  nigger  boy  sez,  sezee,  *  Mammy 
sent  me  arter  some  fier.' 

"  Old  Man  Know-all  told  'im  ter  come  in  an' 
git  it.  The  little  nigger  boy  went  in  an'  started 
ter  the  fireplace. 

"  '  They  ain't  no  chunks  thar,'  sez  Ole  Man 
Know-all.     *  Go  git  a  shovel.' 

" '  Don't  want  no  shovel,'  sez  the  little 
nigger. 

" '  How  you  gwine  ter  take  it? '  sez  Old  Man 
Know-all. 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  1 59 

"  '  Easy  enough,'  sez  the  little  nigger. 

"  Ole  Man  Know-all  turned  over  an'  watched 
'im.  He  went  ter  the  h'ath,  filled  the  palm  er 
one  hand  full  er  dead  ashes,  made  a  little  nest 
in  the  middle,  an'  then  picked  up  a  fire-coal  this 
way." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Mr.  Wim- 
berly  picked  up  a  glowing  coal  of  fire,  dropped 
it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  whirled  it  around 
rapidly,  and  then  neatly  transferred  it  to  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe,  where  it  lay  glowing. 

"  The  little  nigger  picked  up  the  coal  that 
way,"  Mr.  Wimberly  continued,  "  an'  then  he 
started  out.     Ole  Man  Know-all  hollered  at  'im. 

"  '  Hoi'  on  !  '  sezee  ;  '  how  you  gwine  ter 
kindle  a  fire  from  jest  one  coal  ? ' 

" '  Easy  enough,'  sez  the  little  nigger. 

"  Ole  Man  Know-all  jumped  up  an'  follered 
'im,  an'  when  the  little  nigger  come  ter  his 
mammy's  house  he  got  two  fat  pine  splinters, 
picked  up  the  coal  er  fire  wi'  'em  jest  ez  ef 
they'd  'a'  been  tongs,  whirled  it  once-t  er  twice-t 
aroun'  his  head,  an'  thar  wuz  the  blaze. 

" '  Well,'  sez  Ole  Man  Know-all,  '  I'm  mighty 
glad  Grandsir  Death  gimme  the  go-by  last 
night,    'cause    I've   larnt   sump'n    new.      An'    I 


I^O  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

reckon,  ef  I  keep  my  eyes  open,  I  can  larn  lots 
more.'     Jesso !  " 

"  I've  saw  folks  that  thought  they  know'd  it 
all,"  said  Mr.  Pruitt,  "  an'  it  most  inginer'lly 
happens  that  all  what  they  know  wouldn't  make 
the  linin'  fer  a  bug's  nest." 

There  was  some  further  talk,  in  which  Joe 
Maxwell  joined,  or  thought  he  did,  and  then 
the  cabin  and  all  its  occupants  seemed  to  fade 
before  his  eyes.  He  seemed,  as  in  a  dream,  to 
hear  Mr.  Pruitt  say  that  he  wished  to  the  Lord 
that  his  little  boy  was  as  health}^  and  as  well  fed 
as  the  boy  from  town,  and  Joe  thought  he  heard 
the  deserter  telling  his  companions  of  the  des- 
perate condition  in  which  he  found  his  wife  and 
two  little  children,  who  were  living  in  a  house 
remote  from  any  settlement.  The  lad,  much 
interested  in  this  recital,  opened  his  eyes  to  ask 
Mr.  Pruitt  some  of  the  particulars,  and,  lo !  it 
was  morning.  The  fire  was  out,  and  the  de- 
serters and  negroes  had  disappeared.  In  the 
east  the  sky  glowed  with  the  promise  of  the  sun, 
the  birds  were  singing  in  the  old  apple-trees, 
and  the  cows  were  lowing.  In  the  distance  Joe 
could  hear  the  plow-hands  singing  as  they  rode 
to   their   tasks,  and,  when   the   sound   of   their 


THE   STORY-TELLERS.  l6l 

song  had  died  away,  he  thought  he  could  hear, 
ever  so  faintly,  the  voice  of  Harbert  calling  his 
hogs. 

Mink  had  told  Joe  where  he  was,  and  how 
to  get  home,  and  he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding 
his  way. 


CHAPTER   XI. 
THE   RELIEF   COMMITTEE. 

Joe  Maxwell  was  very  tired  the  day  after 
his  experience  in  the  cabin  with  the  deserters 
and  the  runaways,  but  he  was  not  too  tired  to 
joyfully  accept  an  invitation  to  visit  Hills- 
borough with  the  editor  of  The  Coimtrynian. 
For  months  the  town  had  been  practically  in 
a  state  of  siege.  As  the  war  progressed,  it  had 
been  made  a  hospital  station.  The  old  temper- 
ance hall  and  many  of  the  other  buildings  in  the 
town  had  been  fitted  up  for  the  accommodation 
of  the  sick  and  wounded.  There  were  also 
many  refugees  in  Hillsborough  from  Tennessee 
and  north  Georgia.  While  the  town  was 
crowded,  the  small-pox  broke  out,  and  for  a 
month  or  more  the  country  people  were  pre- 
vented from  going  there.  Guards  were  placed 
on  all  the  roads  leading  into  the  town ;  but  this 
was  not  necessary,  for  the  country  people  were 


THE    RELIEF   COMMITTEE.  163 

not  anxious  to  visit  the  place  when  they  learned 
of  the  small-pox.  Hillsborough  was  placed  un- 
der martial  law,  and  a  provost-marshal  given 
charge  of  affairs.  This  was  necessary,  not  only 
to  control  the  small-pox,  but  to  control  the  con- 
valescing soldiers,  among  whom  were  some 
very  rough  characters. 

Joe  had  stayed  away  so  long  that  the  town 
seemed  to  be  new  to  him.     The  playground  in 
front  of  the  old  school-house  was  full  of  dingy 
hospital    huts ;    the  stores   with   which    he    had 
been  familiar  had  been  put  to  new  and  strange 
uses ;  and  there  were  strange  faces  everywhere. 
Squads     of     soldiers     were     marching    briskly 
here   and    there;    men   with    crutches   at   their 
sides,  or  bandages  on  their  heads,  or  with  their 
arms    in   slings,    were    sunning   themselves   on 
every  corner.     Everything  was  strange.     Even 
the  old  china-trees  under  which  Joe  had  played 
hundreds    of    times    had    an    unfamiliar    look. 
Dazed  and  confused,  the  lad  sat  down  on  one 
of  the  long  benches  that  were  placed  along  the 
wall  in  front  of  some  of  the  stores.     The  bench 
was  tilted  back  against  the  wall,  and  one  end  of 
it  w^as  occupied  by  two  men  who  were  engaged 
in  earnest  conversation.     Joe  paid  little  atten- 


164  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

tion  to  them  at  first,  but  a  word  or  two  that  he 
heard  caused  him  to  observe  them  more  closely. 
One  of  them  was  Mr.  Deometari,  the  Greek 
exile  and  lawyer ;  the  other  was  a  man  whom 
Joe  did  not  know.  He  noticed  that,  although 
Mr.  Deometari  wore  a  faded  and  shabby  uni- 
form, his  linen  was  spotless.  His  cuffs  and 
shirt-bosom  shone  in  the  sun,  and  the  setting 
of  a  heavy  ring  on  his  chubby  finger  sparkled 
like  a  star.  "  He  has  forgotten  me,"  Joe  thought, 
and  he  sat  there  determined  not  to  make  him- 
self known,  although  he  and  Mr.  Deometari 
had  been  great  friends  before  the  lad  left  Hills- 
borough. 

"  There's  another  thing  I'm  troubled  about," 
Joe  heard  Mr.  Deometari  say  to  his  companion. 
"  Pruitt  has  come  home." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him  ? "  asked  the 
other. 

"  Deserted  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Deometari. 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  "it's  a  big  risk  for  a 
grown  man  to  take.  If  he's  caught,  he'll  have 
to  pay  the  penalty." 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Deometari,  bringing 
his  fist  down  on  his  broad  knee.  "  He'll  be 
caught,  but  he  won't  pay  the  penalty." 


THE   RELIEF   COMMITTEE.  165 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Deo?  "  asked  his 
companion. 

"  Don't  you  know  him  ? "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Deometari.  "  He  belongs  to  the  Relief  Com- 
mittee !  " 

"  Phew ! "  whistled  the  other,  raising  both 
his  hands  in  the  air,  and  letting  them  fall  again. 

"  Don't  you  know  him  ?  "  Deometari  went 
on,  with  increasing  earnestness.  "  He's  the 
man  that  shot  the  otter." 

Again  Mr.  Deometari's  companion  gave  a 
long  whistle  of  astonishment.  "  Jack  Pruitt  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  The  identical  man,"  said  Deometari.  "  And 
do  you  know  who  this  provost-marshal  here  is 
—this  Captain  Johnson?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  other;  "he's  the  chap 
that  stole  the  last  dust  of  meal  we  had  been 
saving  to  make  soup  for  poor  Tom  Henderson." 

"And  what  happened  then?"  inquired  Mr. 
Deometari,  as  if  trying  to  refresh  his  own  mem- 
ory instead  of  that  of  his  companion.  "  Didn't 
Jack  Pruitt  give  him  a  whipping  ?  " 

"  Why,  bless  my  life  !  "  exclaimed  the  other. 
"  What  am  I  thinking  about  ?     Why,  of  course 
he  did  ! "      Saying  this,  Mr.  Deometari's  com- 
13 


1 66 


ON   THE    PLANTATION. 


panion  rose  to  his  feet,  and  caught  sight  of  Joe 
Maxwell  as  he  did  so.     Instantly  he  laid  his  hand 
on  Mr.  Deometari's  shoulder  and  remarked  : 
"  It  is  fine  weather  for  birds  and  boys." 


Captain  Johnson. 

Joe  was  not  at  all  disconcerted.  He  was 
not  eavesdropping,  though  he  was  very  much 
interested  in  what  he  had  heard.  The  way  to 
interest  a  boy  thoroughly  is  to  puzzle  him,  and 
Joe  was  puzzled. 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Pruitt  last  night,"  he  remarked, 
and   then,   as   his   old    friend    turned,  he    said  : 


THE   RELIEF   COxMMITTEE.  167 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Deo?  You  haven't  for- 
gotten me,  have  you?" 

Joe  advanced  and  offered  his  hand.  As  Mr. 
Deometari  took  it,  the  frown  cleared  away  from 
his  face. 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy  !  "  he  exclaimed,  pull- 
ing the  lad  toward  him  and  giving  him  a  tre- 
mendous hugging,  "  I  am  delighted  to  see  you ! 
I  could  count  on  my  ten  fingers  the  people  who 
are  left  to  call  me  Deo.  And  if  I  counted, 
my  boy,  you  may  be  sure  I'd  call  your  name 
long  before  I  got  to  my  little  finger.  Why, 
I'm  proud  of  you,  my  boy  I  They  tell  me 
you  write  the  little  paragraphs  in  the  paper 
credited  to  '  The  Countryman's  Devil '  ?  Not 
all  of  them !  Ah,  well !  it  is  honor  enough 
if  you  only  write  some  of  them.  Forget  you, 
indeed  ! " 

Mr.  Deometari's  greeting  was  not  only  cor- 
dial but  affectionate,  and  the  sincerity  that 
shone  in  his  face  and  echoed  in  his  words 
brought  tears  to  Joe  Maxwell's  eyes. 

"  Blandford,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  "  you 
ought  to  know  this  boy.  Don't  you  remember 
Joe  Maxwell  ? " 

"Why,  yes!"   said  Mr.  Blandford,  showing 


l68  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

his  white  teeth  and  fixing  his  big  black  eyes  on 
Joe.  "He  used  to  fight  shy  of  me,  but  I  re- 
member him  very  well.  He  used  to  stand  at 
the  back  of  my  chair  and  give  me  luck  when  T 
played  draughts." 

Mr.  Blandford  had  changed  greatly  since 
Joe  had  seen  him  last.  His  black  hair,  which 
once  fell  over  his  shoulders  in  glossy  curls, 
was  now  gray,  and  the  curls  were  shorn  away. 
The  shoulders  that  were  once  straight  and 
stalwart  were  slightly  stooped.  Of  the  gay„ 
and  gallant  young  man  whom  Joe  Maxwell  had 
known  as  Archie  Blandford  nothing  remained 
unchanged  except  his  brilliant  eyes  and  his 
white  teeth.  Mr.  Blandford  had,  in  fact,  seen 
hard  service.  He  had  been  desperately  shot 
in  one  of  the  battles,  and  had  lain  for  months  in 
a  Richmond  hospital.  He  was  now,  as  he  said, 
just  beginning  to  feel  his  oats  again. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Mr.  Deometari,  "  we  must  go 
to  my  room.  It  is  the  same  old  room,  in  the 
same  old  tavern,"  he  remarked. 

When  the  two  men  and  Joe  Maxwell  reached 
the  room,  which  was  one  of  the  series  opening 
on  the  long  veranda  of  the  old  tavern,  Mr.  Deo- 
metari carefully  closed  the  door,  although  the 


THE    RELIEF   COMMITTEE.  1 69 

weather  was  pleasant  enough — it  was  the  early 
fall  of  1864. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  he,  drawing  his  chair 
in  front  of  Joe,  and  placing  his  hands  on  his 
knees,  "  I  heard  you  mention  a  name  out 
yonder  when  you  first  spoke  to  me.  What 
was  it  ? " 

"  Pruitt,"  said  Joe. 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  smiling 
in  a  satisfied  way.  "  John  Pruitt.  Now,  what 
did  you  say  about  John  Pruitt?  " 

"  Late  of  said  county,  deceased,"  dryly  re- 
marked Mr.  Blandford,  quoting  from  the  form 
of  a  legal  advertisement. 

"  I  said  I  saw  him  last  night,"  said  Joe,  and 
then  he  went  on  to  explain  the  circumstances. 

"  Very  good  !  and  now  what  did  you  hear 
me  say  about  Pruitt?" 

"  You  said  he  would  be  caught  and  not  pun- 
ished because  he  belonged  to  the  Relief  Com- 
mittee." 

"  Hear  that !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Deometari. 
"  If  any  but  these  friendly  ears  had  heard  all 
that,  we'd  have  been  put  on  Johnson's  black  list, 
and  maybe  we'd  have  been  transferred  from  the 
black  list  to  the  guard-house.     Now,  then,"  con- 


I/O  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

tinued  Mr.  Deometari,  "  you  don't  know  any- 
thing about  the  Relief  Committee,  of  course,  and 
as  you  might  be  inquiring  around  about  it,  and 
asking  what  John  Pruitt,  the  deserter,  has  to  do 
with  the  Relief  Committee,  I'll  tell  you.  But, 
my  dear  boy,  you  must  remember  this  :  It's  not  a 
matter  to  be  joked  about  or  talked  of  anywhere 
outside  of  this  room.  Now,  don't  forget.  It 
isn't  much  of  a  secret ;  it  is  simply  a  piece  of 
business  that  concerns  only  a  few  people.  Do 
you  remember  reading  or  hearing  about  the  re- 
treat from  Laurel  Hill?  "  asked  Mr.  Deometari, 
moving  his  chair  back  and  unwinding  the  stem 
of  his  Turkish  pipe.  "  That  was  in  the  early 
part  of  the  war,  and  it  will  never  cut  much  of  a 
figure  in  history,  but  some  of  those  who  were  in 
that  retreat  will  never  forget  it.  In  the  con- 
fusion of  getting  away  a  little  squad  of  us,  be- 
longing mostly  to  the  First  Georgia  Regiment, 
were  cut  off  from  the  main  body.  When  we 
halted  to  get  our  bearings  there  were  not  more 
than  a  dozen  of  us." 

"  Seventeen,  all  told,"  remarked  Mr.  Bland- 
ford. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  "seventeen. 
We  were  worse   than   lost.     We  were   on  the 


THE   RELIEF   COMMITTEE.  I^I 

mountains  in  a  strange  country.  Behind  us 
was  the  enemy  and  before  us  was  a  forest  of 
laurel  that  stretched  away  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  To  the  right  or  to  the  left  was 
the  same  uncertainty.  We  could  hear  nothing 
of  the  rest  of  the  command.  To  fire  a  gun  was 
to  invite  capture,  and  there  was  nothing  for  us 
to  do  but  push  ahead  through  the  scrubby 
growth." 

"  The  commissary  was  absent  on  a  furlough," 
remarked  Mr.  Blandford. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  laughing.  "  The 
commissary  was  missing,  and  rations  were 
scanty.  Some  of  the  men  had  none  at  all. 
Some  had  a  little  hard-tack,  and  others  had  a 
handful  or  so  of  meal.  Though  the  weather  was 
bitter  cold,  we  built  no  fire  the  first  night,  for 
fear  of  attracting  the  attention  of  the  enemy. 
The  next  day  and  the  next  we  struggled  on. 
We  saved  our  rations  the  best  we  could,  but 
they  gave  out  after  a  while,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing left  but  a  little  meal  which  John  Pruitt  was 
saving  up  for  Tom  Henderson,  who  was  ill  and 
weak  with  fever.  Every  dav,  when  we'd  stop  to 
breathe  awhile,  Pruitt  would  make  Henderson 
a  little  cupful  of  gruel,  while  the  rest  of  us  ate 


1/2  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

corn,  or  roots,  or  chewed  the  inside  bark  of  the 
trees." 

"  And  nobody  begrudged  Tom  his  gruel," 
said  Mr.  Blandford,  "  though  I'll  swear  the 
sight  of  it  gave  me  the  all-overs." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Deometari. 
"  Somebody  did  begrudge  Tom  the  gruel. 
One  night  this  Captain  Johnson,  who  is  lord- 
ing it  around  here  now,  thought  Pruitt  and 
the  rest  of  us  were  asleep,  and  he  made  an 
effort  to  steal  the  little  meal  that  was  left. 
Well,  Pruitt  was  very  wide  awake,  and  he 
caught  Johnson  and  gave  him  a  tremendous 
flogging ;  but  the  villain  had  already  got  into 
the  haversack,  and  in  the  struggle  the  meal 
was  spilled." 

Mr.  Deometari  coiled  the  stem  of  his  pipe 
around  his  neck,  and  blew  a  great  cloud  of 
smoke  toward  the  ceilinsf. 

"  But  what  about  the  Relief  Committee,  Mr. 
Deo?"  inquired  Joe. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure !  A  nice  story-teller  am 
I !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Deometari.  "  I  had  forgot- 
ten the  Relief  Committee  entirely.  Well,  we 
went  forward,  growing  weaker  and  weaker 
every  day,  until  finally  we  came  to  a  ravine." 


THE    RELIEF   COMMITTEE. 


173 


"  It  was  a  gorge,"  observed  Mr.  Blandford, 
stretching  himself  out  on  Mr.  Deometari's  bed, 
"  and  a  deep  one  too." 

"  Yes,  a  gorge,"  said  Mr.  Deometari.  "  When 
we  reached  that  gorge  we  were  in  a  famished 


Some  of  the  men  dropped  on  the  ground  and  declared  that  they 
would  go  no  farther. 

condition.  Not  a  bird  could  be  seen  except 
crows  and  buzzards.  The  crows  would  have 
made   good  eating,  no   doubt,  but   they   were 


174  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

very  shy.  We  had  lived  in  the  hope  of  find- 
ing a  hog,  or  a  sheep,  or  a  cow,  but  not  a  sign 
of  a  four-footed  creature  did  we  see.  I  don't 
know  how  it  was,  but  that  gorge  seemed  to 
stretch  across  our  path  like  the  Gulf  of  De- 
spair. Some  of  the  men  dropped  on  the  ground 
and  declared  that  they  would  go  no  farther. 
They  said  they  had  no  desire  to  live  ;  they  were 
as  weak  and  as  foolish  as  children.  Of  the  sev- 
enteen men  in  the  squad,  there  were  but  five 
who  had  any  hope,  any  spunk,  or  any  spirit — 
Blandford  there,  Pruitt,  Henderson,  this  Captain 
Johnson,  and  myself." 

"  You  ought  to  put  yourself  first,"  said  Mr. 
Blandford.  "  You  were  as  fat  as  a  pig  all  the 
time,  and  as  full  of  life  as  a  grasshopper  in 
July." 

"  This  ravine  or  gorge,"  continued  Mr. 
Deometari,  paying  no  attention  to  the  inter- 
ruption, "was  our  salvation.  Mr.  Blandford 
and  Pruitt  explored  it  for  a  little  distance,  and 
they  found  a  little  stream  of  water  running  at 
the  bottom.  It  was  what  you  call  a  branch. 
When  they  came  back  there  was  considerable 
disagreement  among  the  men.  The  poor  creat- 
ures, weak  and   irritable  from  hunger,  had  lost 


THE    RELIEF   COMMITTEE.  1 75 

all  hope,  and  would  listen  to  no  argument  that 
didn't  suit  their  whims.  There  was  this  ques- 
tion to  settle  :  Should  we  cross  the  gorge  and 
continue  in  the  course  we  had  been  going,  or 
should  we  follow  the  gorge.?  It  was  a  very 
serious  question.  We  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  where  we  were.  We  had  been  wandering 
about  in  the  mountains  for  eight  days,  and  if 
we  were  going  to  get  out  at  all  it  was  necessary 
to  be  in  a  hurry  about  it. 

"  Then  there  was  another  question.  If  the 
gorge  was  to  be  followed,  which  way  should  we 
go  ?  Should  we  follow  the  running  water  or 
should  we  go  the  other  way  ?  Blandford  and 
Pruitt  had  already  made  up  their  minds  to  fol- 
low the  running  water,  and  of  course  I  was 
going  with  them." 

"  That's  because  it  was  down  hill,"  remarked 
Mr.  Blandford,  laughing.  "  Deo  always  said  his 
legs  were  never  made  for  going  up  hill." 

"  We  had  a  great  discussion.  My  dear  boy, 
if  you  want  to  see  how  peevish  and  ill-natured 
and  idiotic  a  grown  man  can  be,  just  starve 
him  for  a  matter  of  eight  or  nine  days.  Some 
wanted  to  go  one  way  and  some  wanted  to  go 
another,   while    others   wanted    to    stay   where 


176  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

they  were.  Actually,  Blandford  and  I  had  to 
cut  hickories  and  pretend  that  we  were  going 
to  flog  the  men  who  wanted  to  stay  there  and 
die,  and  when  we  got  them  on  their  feet  we  had 
to  drive  them  along  like  a  drove  of  sheep,  while 
Pruitt  led  the  way. 

"  Pruitt's  idea  was  that  the  running  water 
led  somewhere.  This  may  seem  to  be  a  very 
simple  matter  now,  but  in  our  weak  and  con- 
fused condition  it  was  a  very  fortunate  thing 
that  he  had  the  idea  and  stuck  to  it.  We  found 
out  afterward  that  if  we  had  continued  on  the 
course  we  had  been  going,  or  if  we  had  followed 
the  gorge  in  the  other  direction,  we  would  have 
buried  ourselves  in  a  wilderness  more  than  a 
hundred  miles  in  extent. 

"  The  next  day  a  couple  of  hawks  and  two 
jay-birds  were  shot,  and,  though  they  made 
small  rations  for  seventeen  men,  yet  they  were 
refreshing,  and  the  very  sight  of  them  made  us 
feel  better.  The  walls  of  the  gorge  grew  wider 
apart,  and  the  branch  became  larger  as  we  fol- 
lowed it.  The  third  day  after  we  had  changed 
our  course  Pruitt,  who  was  ahead,  suddenly 
paused  and  lifted  his  hand.  Some  of  the  men 
were  so  weak  that  they  swayed  from  side  to 


THE    RELIEF   COMMITTEE.  1 77 

side  as  they  halted.  The  sight  of  them  was 
pitiful.  We  soon  saw  what  had  attracted  Pru- 
itt's  attention.  On  the  rocks,  above  a  pool  of 
water,  an  otter  lay  sunning  himself.  He  was  as 
fat  as  butter.  We  stood  speechless  a  moment 
and  then  sank  to  the  ground.  There  was  no 
fear  that  the  otter  could  hear  our  voices,  for  the 
branch,  which  had  now  grown  into  a  creek,  fell 
noisily  into  the  pool.  If  he  had  heard  us 
— if  he  had  slipped  off  the  rocks  and  disap- 
peared— "  Mr.  Deometari  paused  and  looked 
into  his  pipe. 

"  Great  heavens,  Deo  !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Blandford,  jumping  up  from  the  bed.  "  I'll 
never  forget  that  as  long  as  I  live  !  I  never  had 
such  feelings  before,  and  I've  never  had  such 
since." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mr.  Deometari,  "  it  was  an 
awful  moment.  Each  man  knew  that  we  must 
have  the  otter,  but  how  could  we  get  him? 
He  must  be  shot,  but  who  could  shoot  him  ? 
Who  would  have  nerve  enough  to  put  the  ball 
in  the  right  spot?  The  man  who  held  the  gun 
would  know  how  much  depended  on  him  ;  he 
would  be  too  excited  to  shoot  straight.  I 
looked   at   the   men,   and   most   of   them    were 


1/8  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

trembling-.  Those  who  were  not  trembling 
were  as  white  as  a  sheet  with  excitement,  I 
looked  at  Pruitt,  and  he  was  standing  up,  watch- 
ing the  otter,  and  whistling  a  little  jig  under 
his  breath.  So  I  said  to  him,  as  quietly  as  I 
could  : 

"  *  Take  your  gun,  man,  and  give  it  to  him. 
You  can't  miss.     He's  as  big  as  a  barn-door.' 

"  Pruitt  dropped  on  one  knee,  put  a  fresh 
cap  on  his  gun,  shook  his  hand  loose  from  his 
sleeve,  leveled  his  piece,  and  said,  '  Pray  for  it, 
boys ! '  Then  he  fired.  He  was  so  weak  that 
the  gun  kicked  him  over.  When  I  looked  at 
the  otter  it  seemed  that  the  creature  had  never 
moved,  but  presently  I  saw  a  leg  quivering,  and 
then  we  rushed  forward  as  fast  as  we  could,  the 
happiest  lot  of  men  you  ever  saw  on  this  earth. 
The  otter  was  shot  through  the  head.  The 
men  were  so  ravenous  they  acted  like  maniacs. 
It  was  all  that  Blandford  and  Pruitt  and  I 
could  do  to  keep  them  from  falling  on  the  otter 
with  their  knives  and  eating  it  raw,  hide  and 
all. 

"  But  it  saved  us,"  Mr.  Deometari  went  on, 
"  and  we  had  something  to  spare.  The  next 
day  we  met  with  a  farmer  hunting   his   stray 


THE    RELIEF   COMMITTEE. 


179 


Pray  for  it,  boys  !  " 


l80  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

sheep,  and  we  soon  got  back  to  the  army. 
Four  of  us  formed  the  ReHef  Committee  before 
we  parted.  Blandford,  Pruitt,  Tom  Henderson, 
and  myself — the  men  who  had  never  lost  hope 
— promised  each  other,  and  shook  hands  on  it, 
that  whenever  one  got  in  trouble  the  others 
would  help  him  out  without  any  questions. 

"  Now,  it  isn't  necessary  to  ask  any  questions 
about  Pruitt.  He  deserted  because  his  family 
were  in  a  starving  condition." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Blandford,  bringing  his 
heavy  jaws  together  with  a  snap,  "  and  I  believe 
in  my  soul  that  Johnson  has  kept  food  and 
clothes  away  from  them  !  " 

"  I  know  he  has,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  calm- 
ly. "  Tom  Henderson  is  one  of  Johnson's  clerks, 
and  he  keeps  the  run  of  things.  He  is  to  meet 
us  to-night,  and  then  you'll  see  a  man  who  has 
been  blazing  mad  for  three  months. — Now,  my 
boy,"  continued  Mr.  Deometari,  "  forget  all 
about  this.  You  are  too  young  to  be  troubled 
with  such  things.  We're  just  watching  to  see 
how  Captain  Johnson  proposes  to  pay  off  the 
score  he  owes  Pruitt.  Should  you  chance  to 
see  John,  just  tell  him  that  the  Relief  Commit- 
tee has  taken  charge  of  Hillsborough  for  a  few 


THE    RELIEF   COMMITTEE.  l8l 

weeks.  Another  thing,"  said  Mr.  Deometari, 
laying  his  hand  kindly  on  the  boy's  shoulder, 
"  if  you  should  be  sent  for  some  day  or  some 
night,  just  drop  everything  and  come  with  the 
messenger.  A  bright  chap  like  you  is  never 
too  small  to  do  good." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  with  Joe,  and  Mr. 
Blandford  gravely  took  off  his  hat  when  he 
bade  the  boy  good-by. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT. 

For  a  few  days  Joe  Maxwell  forgot  all  about 
Mr.  Deometari,  Mr.  Blandford,  and  Mr.  Pruitt. 
There  was  distinguished  company  visiting  the 
editor  of  TJie  Countryman — a  young  lady  from 
Virginia,  Miss  Nellie  Carter,  and  her  mother, 
and  some  young  officers  at  home  on  furlough. 
One  of  these  young  officers,  a  kinsman  of  the 
editor,  brought  his  pack  of  fox-hounds,  and 
arrangements  were  made  for  a  grand  fox-hunt. 
The  plantation  seemed  to  arouse  itself  to  please 
the  visitors.  The  negroes  around  the  house 
put  on  their  Sunday  clothes  and  went  hurrying 
about  their  duties,  as  if  to  show  themselves  at 
their  best. 

Joe  was  very  glad  when  the  editor  told  him 
that  he  was  to  go  with  the  fox-hunters  and  act 
as  master  of  ceremonies.  Fox-hunting  was  a 
sport  of  which  he  was  very  fond,  for  it  seemed 
to  combine  all  the  elements  of  health  and  pleas- 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  1 83 

ure  ill  outdoor  life.  Shortly  after  Joe  went  to 
the  plantation  the  editor  of  The  Countryman  had 
brought  from  Hillsborough  a  hound  puppy, 
which  had  been  sent  him  by  a  Mr.  Birdsong. 
This  Mr.  Birdsong  was  a  celebrated  breeder  of 
fox-hounds,  having  at  one  time  the  only  pack 
south  of  Virginia  that  could  catch  a  red  fox. 
He  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  editor  of  The 
Countryman,  and  he  sent  him  the  dog  as  a  gift. 
In  his  letter  Mr.  Birdsong  wrote  that  the  puppy 
had  been  raised  under  a  gourd-vine,  and  so  the 
editor  called  him  Jonah.  Joe  Maxwell  thought 
the  name  was  a  very  good  one,  but  it  turned 
out  that  the  dog  was  very  much  better  than  his 
name.  The  editor  gave  the  dog  to  Joe,  who 
took  great  pains  in  training  him.  Before  Jonah 
was  six  months  old  he  had  learned  to  trail  a  fox- 
skin,  and  by  the  time  he  was  a  year  old  hardly 
a  morning  passed  that  Joe  did  not  drag  the  skin 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Jonah  trail  it.  He 
developed  great  speed  and  powers  of  scent,  and 
he  was  not  more  than  two  years  old  before  he 
had  run  down  and  caught  a  red  fox,  unaided 
and  alone.  Naturally,  Joe  w^as  very  proud  of 
Jonah,  and  he  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
show  off  the  dog's  hunting  qualities. 


1 84  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

In  training  Jonah,  Joe  had  also  unwittingly 
trained  an  old  fox  that  made  his  home  on  the 
plantation.  The  fox  came  to  be  well  known  to 
every  hunter  in  the  county.  He  was  old,  and 
tough,  and  sly.  He  had  been  pursued  so  often 
that  if  he  heard  a  dog  bark  in  the  early  morn- 
ing hours,  or  a  horn  blow,  he  was  up  and  away. 
The  negroes  called  him  "  Old  Sandy,"  and  this 
was  the  name  he  came  to  be  known  by.  Jonah 
when  a  puppy  had  trailed  Old  Sandy  many 
a  time,  and  Joe  knew  all  his  tricks  and  turn- 
ings. He  decided  that  it  would  be  well  to  give 
the  young  officer's  pack  some  exercise  with  this 
cunning  old  fox. 

All  the  arrangements  for  the  hunt  were  made 
by  the  editor.  Joe  Maxwell  was  to  escort  Miss 
Nellie  Carter,  who,  although  a  Virginian  and  a 
ofood  horsewoman,  had  never  ridden  across  the 
country  after  a  fox.  The  lad  was  to  manage 
so  that  Miss  Carter  should  see  at  least  as  much 
of  the  hunt  as  the  young  men  who  were  to  fol- 
low the  hounds,  while  Harbert  was  to  go  along 
to  pull  down  and  put  up  the  fences.  To  Joe 
this  was  a  new  and  comical  feature  of  fox-hunt- 
inof,  but  the  editor  said  that  this  would  be  safer 
for  Miss  Carter. 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  1 85 

When  the  morning  of  the  hunt  arrived,  Joe 
was  ready  before  any  of  the  guests,  as  he  had 
intended  to  be.  He  wanted  to  see  to  every- 
thing, much  to  Harbert's  amusement.  Like  all 
bo3'S,  he  was  excited  and  enthusiastic,  and  he 
was  very  anxious  to  see  the  hunt  go  off  success- 
fully. Finally,  when  all  had  had  a  cup  of  coffee, 
they  mounted  their  horses  and  wei'e  ready 
to  go. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Joe,  feeling  a  little  awk- 
ward and  embarrassed,  as  he  knew  that  Miss 
Nellie  Carter  was  looking  and  listening,  "  there 
must  be  no  horn-blowing  until  after  the  hunt 
is  over.  Of  course,  you  can  blow  if  you  want 
to,"  Joe  went  on,  thinking  he  had  heard  one 
of  the  young  men  laugh,  "  but  we  won't  have 
much  of  a  hunt.  We  are  going  after  Old 
Sandy  this  morning,  and  he  doesn't  like  to 
hear  a  horn  at  all.  If  we  can  keep  the  dogs 
from  barking  until  we  get  to  the  field,  so  much 
the  better." 

"  You  must  pay  attention,"  said  Miss  Carter, 
as  some  of  the  young  men  were  beginning  to 
make  sarcastic  suggestions.  "  I  want  to  see  a 
real  fox-hunt,  and  I'm  sure  it  will  be  better  to 
follow  Mr.  Maxwell's  advice." 


1 86  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

Joe  blushed  to  here  his  name  pronounced 
so  sweetly,  but  in  the  dim  twilight  of  morning 
his  embarrassment  could  not  be  seen. 

"  Are  your  dogs  all  here,  sir?  "  he  asked  the 
young  man  who  had  brought  his  hounds.  "  I 
have  counted  seven,  and  mine  makes  eisfht." 

"  Is  yours  a  rabbit-dog  ?  "  the  young  man 
asked. 

"  Oh,  he's  very  good  for  rabbits,"  replied 
Joe,  irritated  by  the  question. 

"  Then  hadn't  we  better  leave  him  ? "  the 
young  man  asked,  not  unkindly.  "  He  might 
give  us  a  good  deal  of  trouble." 

"  I'll  answer  for  that,"  said  Joe.  "  If  every- 
body is  ready,  we'll  go." 

"  You  are  to  be  my  escort,  Mr.  Maxwell," 
said  Miss  Carter,  taking  her  place  by  Joe's 
side,  "  and  I  know  I  shall  be  well  taken  care 
of." 

The  cavalcade  moved  off  and  for  a  mile  fol- 
lowed the  public  road.  Then  it  turned  into  a 
lane  and  then  into  a  plantation  road  that  led 
to  what  was  called  the  "  Turner  old  field," 
where  for  three  or  four  years,  and  perhaps 
longer.  Old  Sandy  had  made  his  headquarters. 
By   the   time    the    hunters   reached    the   field, 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  '    18/ 

which  was  a  mile  in  extent,  and  made  up 
of  pasture-land  overgrown  with  broom-sedge, 
wild  plum-trees,  and  blackberry-vines,  the 
dawn  had  disappeared  before  the  sun.  Red 
and  yellow  clouds  mingled  together  in  the 
east,  and  a  rosy  glow  fell  across  the  hills  and 
woods.  As  they  halted  for  Harbert  to  take 
down  the  fence,  Joe  stole  a  glance  at  his  com- 
panion, and  as  she  sat  with  her  lips  parted 
and  the  faint  reflection  of  the  rosy  sky  on  her 
cheeks,  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  pret- 
tier picture.  Jonah  seemed  to  be  of  the  same 
opinion,  for  he  stood  by  the  young  lady's  horse, 
looking  into  her  face,  and  whistled  wistfully 
through  his  nose. 

"  That  is  your  dog,  I  know  ! "  said  Miss  Car- 
ter. "  Why,  he's  a  perfect  beauty  !  Poor  fel- 
low !  "  she  exclaimed,  stretching  her  arm  out 
and  filliping  her  fingers.  Jonah  gathered  him- 
self together,  leaped  lightly  into  the  air,  and 
touched  her  fair  hand  with  his  velvet  tonofue. 
Joe  blushed  with  delight.  "  Why,  he  jumped 
as  high  as  a  man's  head  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  know 
he  will  catch  the  fox." 

**  T  think  we  have  stolen  a  march  on  Old 
Sandy,"  said  Joe,  "and  if  we  have,  you'll  see 


1 88  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

a  fine  race.  I  hope  the  other  dogs  can  keep 
up." 

"  Ah,"  said  their  owner,  "  they  are  Maryland 
dogs." 

"  My  dog,"  said  Joe,  proudly,  "  is  a  Bird- 
song." 

By  this  time  the  hunters  had  crossed  the 
fence,  and  the  dogs,  with  the  exception  of  Jonah, 
were  beginning  to  cast  about  in  the  broom-sedge 
and  brier-patches. 

"  I  hope  Jonah  isn't  lazy,"  said  Miss  Carter, 
watching  the  dog  as  he  walked  in  quiet  dignity 
by  the  side  of  her  horse. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Joe,  "  he  isn't  lazy  ;  but  he 
never  gets  in  a  hurr}^  until  the  time  comes." 

The  young  men  tried  to  tease  Joe  about 
Jonah,  but  the  lad  only  smiled,  and  Jonah  gradu- 
ally worked  away  from  the  horses.  It  was  no- 
ticed that  he  did  not  hunt  as  closely  as  the 
other  dogs,  nor  did  he  nose  the  ground  as  care- 
fully. He  swept  the  field  in  ever-widening  cir- 
cles, going  in  an  easy  gallop,  that  was  the  per- 
fection of  grace,  and  energy,  and  strength. 
Presentl}'  Harbert  cried  out : 

"  Looky  j'onder,  Marse  Joe  !  Looky  yonder 
at  Jonah  !  " 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  1 89 

r 

All  eyes  were  turned  in  the  direction  that 
Harbert  pointed.  The  dog  was  hunting  where 
the  brown  sedge  was  higher  than  his  head,  and 
he  had  evidently  discovered  something,  for  he 
would  leap  into  the  air,  look  around,  and  drop 
back  into  the  sedge,  only  to  go  through  the 
same  performance  with  increasing  energy. 

"  Why  don't  he  give  a  yelp  or  two  and  call 
the  other  dogs  to  help  him  ?"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  young  men. 

"He's  no  tattler,"  said  Joe,  "and  he  doesn't 
need  any  help.  That  fox  has  either  just  got  up 
or  he  isn't  twent}'  yards  awa}-.     Just  w^ait !  " 

The  next  moment  Jonah  gave  tongue  with 
thrilling  energ}^  repeated  the  challenge  twice, 
and  was  off,  topping  the  fence  like  a  bird.  The 
effect  on  the  other  dogs  was  magical ;  they 
rushed  to  the  cry,  caught  up  the  red-hot  drag, 
scrambled  over  the  fence  the  best  they  could, 
and  went  away,  followed  b}'  a  cheer  from  Har- 
bert that  shook  the  dew  from  the  leaves.  The 
young  men  were  off,  too,  and  Joe  had  all  he 
could  do  to  hold  his  horse,  which  was  in  the 
habit  of  running  with  the  hounds.  The  sound 
of  the  hunt  grew  fainter  as  the  dogs  ran  across 
a  stretch  of  meadow-land  and  throusfh  a  skirt  of 


190  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

woods  to  the  open  country  beyond  ;  and  Joe 
and  Miss  Carter,  accompanied  by  Harbert,  pro- 
ceeded leisurely  to  the  brow  of  a  hill  near  by. 

"  If  that  is  Old  Sandy,"  said  Joe,  "  he  will 
come  across  the  Bermuda  field  yonder,  turn  to 
the  left,  and  pass  us  not  very  far  from  that  dead 
pine."     Joe  was  very  proud  of  his  knowledge. 

"Why,  we  shall  see  the  best  of  the  hunt!" 
cried  Miss  Carter,  enthusiastically. 

They  sat  on  their  horses  and  listened.  Some- 
times the  hounds  seemed  to  be  coming  nearer, 
and  then  they  would  veer  off.  Finally,  their 
musical  voices  melted  away  in  the  distance. 
Joe  kept  his  e3'es  on  the  Bermuda  field,  and  so 
did  Harbert,  while  Miss  Carter  tapped  her 
horse's  mane  gently  with  her  riding-whip,  and 
seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  scene.  They  waited 
a  long  time,  and  Joe  was  beginning  to  grow  dis- 
heartened, when  Harbert  suddenly  exclaimed  : 

"  Looky  yonder,  Marse  Joe  !  what  dat  gwine 
'cross  de  Bermuda  pastur'  ?  " 

Across  the  brow  of  the  hill  slipped  a  tawny 
shadow — slipped  across  and  disappeared  before 
Miss  Carter  could  see  it. 

"  That's  Old  Sandy,"  cried  Joe  ;  "  now  watch 
for  Jonah  ! " 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  I9I 

Presently  the  hounds  could  be  heard  again, 
coming  nearer  and  nearer.  Then  a  larger  and 
a  darker  shadow  sprang  out  of  the  woods  and 
swept  across  the  pasture,  moving  swiftly  and 
yet  with  the  regularity  of  machinery.  At  short 
intervals  a  little  puff  of  vapor  would  rise  from 
this  black  shadow,  and  then  the  clear  voice 
of  Jonah  would  come  ringing  over  the  valley. 
Then  the  rest  of  the  dogs,  a  group  of  shadows, 
with  musical  voices,  swept  across  the  Bermuda 
field. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful !  "  exclaimed  INIiss  Car- 
ter, clapping  her  little  hands. 

"  Wait,"  said  Joe ;  "  don't  make  any  noise. 
He'll  pass  here, -and  go  to  the  fence  yonder,  and 
if  he  isn't  scared  to  death  you'll  see  a  pretty 
trick." 

It  was  a  wide  circle  the  fox  made  after  he 
passed  through  the  Bermuda  field.  He  crossed 
the  little  stream  that  ran  through  the  valley, 
skirted  a  pine  thicket,  ran  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
along  a  plantation  path,  and  then  turned  and 
came  down  the  fallow  ground  that  lay  between 
the  creek  and  the  hill  where  Joe  and  Miss  Car- 
ter, with  Harbert,  had  taken  their  stand.  It 
was  a  comparatively  level  stretch  of  nearly  a 


192  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

half-mile.  The  old  corn-rows  ran  lengthwise 
the  field,  and  down  one  of  these  Old  Sandy  came 
in  full  view  of  those  who  were  waiting^  to  see 
him  pass.  He  was  running  rapidly,  but  not  at 
full  speed,  and,  although  his  tongue  was  hang- 
ing out,  he  was  not  distressed.  Reaching  the 
fence  two  hundred  yards  away  from  the  specta- 
tors, he  clambered  lightly  to  the  top,  sat  down 
on  a  rail  and  began  to  lick  his  fore-paws,  stop- 
ping occasionally,  with  one  paw  suspended  in  the 
air,  to  listen  to  the  dogs.  In  a  moment  or  two 
more  Jonah  entered  the  field  at  the  head  of  the 
valley.  Old  Sandy,  carefully  balancing  himself 
on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence,  walked  it  for  a  hun- 
dred yards  or  more,  then  gathering  himself  to- 
gether sprang  into  the  air  and  fell  in  the  broom- 
sedge  fully  twenty  feet  away  from  the  fence. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  the  dogs  won't  catch  him  !  "  ex- 
claimed Miss  Carter.  "  He  surely  deserves  to 
escape  !  " 

"  He  got  sense  like  folks,"  said  Harbert. 

"  He  stayed  on  the  fence  too  long.  Just  look 
at  Jonah  !  "  cried  Joe. 

The  hound  came  down  the  field  like  a  whirl- 
wind. He  was  running  at  least  thirty  yards  to 
the  left  of  the  furrow  the  fox  had  followed. 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  I93 

"  Why,  he  isn't  following  the  track  of  the 
fox,"  exclaimed  Miss  Carter.  "  I  thought  hounds 
trailed  foxes  by  the  scent." 

"  They  do,"  said  Joe,  "  but  Jonah  doesn't 
need  to  follow  it  as  the  other  dogs  do.  The 
dog  that  runs  with  his  nose  to  the  ground  can 
never  catch  a  red  fox." 

"  Isn't  he  beautiful  !  "  cried  the  young  lady, 
as  Jonah  rushed  past,  his  head  up  and  his 
sonorous  voice  making  music  in  the  air.  He 
topped  the  fence  some  distance  above  the  point 
where  the  fox  had  left  it,  lost  the  trail,  and  made 
a  sweeping  circle  to  the  right,  increasing  his 
speed  as  he  did  so.  Still  at  fault,  he  circled 
widely  to  the  left,  picked  up  the  drag  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  fence,  and  pushed  on  more 
eagerly  than  ever.  The  rest  of  the  dogs  had 
overrun  the  track  at  the  point  where  the  fox 
had  turned  to  enter  the  field,  but  they  finally 
found  it  again,  and  went  by  the  spectators  in 
fine  style,  running  together  very  prettily.  At 
the  fence  they  lost  the  trail,  and  for  some  min- 
utes they  were  casting  about.  One  of  the 
younger  dogs  wanted  to  take  the  back  track, 
but  Harbert  turned  him  around,  and  was  about 
to  set  the  pack  right,  when  the  voice  of  Jonah 


194  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

was  heard  again,  clear  and  ringing.  Old  Sandy, 
finding  himself  hard  pushed,  had  dropped  flat  in 
the  grass  and  allowed  the  hound  to  overrun  him. 
Then  he  doubled,  and  started  back.  He  gained 
but  little,  but  he  was  still  game.  Jonah  whirled 
in  a  short  circle,  and  was  after  the  fox  almost 
instantly.  Old  Sandy  seemed  to  know  that  this 
was  his  last  opportunity.  With  a  marvelous 
burst  of  speed  he  plunged  through  the  belated 
dogs  that  were  hunting  for  the  lost  drag,  slipped 
through  the  fence,  and  went  back  by  the  spec- 
tators like  a  flash.  There  was  a  tremendous 
outburst  of  music  from  the  dogs  as  they  sighted 
him,  and  for  one  brief  moment  Joe  was  afraid 
that  Jonah  would  be  thrown  out.  The  next 
instant  the  dog  appeared  on  the  fence,  and  there 
he  sighted  the  fox.  It  was  then  that  the  cour- 
age and  speed  of  Jonah  showed  themselves. 
Nothing  could  have  stood  up  before  him. 
Within  a  hundred  yards  he  ran  into  the  fox. 
Realizing  his  fate.  Old  Sandy  leaped  into  the  air 
with  a  squall,  and  the  next  moment  the  power- 
ful jaws  of  Jonah  had  closed  on  him. 

By  this  time  the  rest  of  the  hunters  had 
come  in  sight.  From  a  distance  they  witnessed 
the  catch.    They  saw  the  rush  that  Jonah  made  ; 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT. 


195 


they  saw  Miss  Carter  and  Joe  Maxwell  gallop- 
ing forward  ;  they  saw  the  lad  leap  from  his 
horse  and  bend  over  the  fox,  around  which  the 
dogs  were  jumping  and  howling ;  they  saw  him 
rise,  with  hat  in  hand,  and  present  something  to 


Old  Sandy  leaped  into  the  air. 

his  fair  companion  ;  and  then  they  knew  that 
the  young  lady  would  ride  home  with  Old 
Sandy's  brush  suspended  from  her  saddle. 

These  hunters  came  up  after  a  while.  Their 
horses  were  jaded,  and  the  riders  themselves 
looked  unhappy. 

"  Did   you    notice    which   one   of   my  dogs 


196  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

caught  the  fox?"  asked  the  young  man  to 
whom  the  pack  belonged. 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not,"  said  Joe. 

"  I  declare  that  is  too  funny  !  "  exclaimed  Miss 
Carter,  laughing  merrily,  and  then  she  went  on  to 
describe  the  chase  as  she  saw  it.  The  young  man 
smiled  as  though  he  thought  it  was  all  a  joke, 
and  that  night  he  called  up  Harbert,  and  offered 
him  a  dollar  in  Confederate  money  if  he  would 
tell  the  truth  about  the  matter.  Harbert  told 
him  the  truth,  but  it  was  so  unpleasant  that  the 
young  man  forgot  all  about  the  money,  although 
a  dollar  at  that  time  was  worth  not  more  than 
twelve  and  a  half  cents. 

Miss  Carter  seemed  to  be  almost  as  proud  of 
Jonah's  performance  as  Joe  was,  and  this  made 
the  lad  feel  very  proud  and  happy.  But,  as 
they  were  going  home,  an  incident  happened 
which,  for  the  time,  and  for  some  days  after- 
ward, drove  all  thoughts  of  Jonah  and  fox-hunt- 
ing out  of  his  mind.  The  hunters  went  back 
the  way  they  had  come,  and  shortly  after 
they  entered  the  public  road  they  met  a  small 
procession  that  turned  out  to  be  very  interest- 
ing, especially  to  Joe.  First,  there  was  a  spring 
wagon,  drawn  by  one   horse  and   driven  by  a 


A   GEORGIA    FOX-HUNT.  197 

negro.  On  the  seat  with  the  negro,  and  se- 
curely fastened  with  ropes,  was  Mr.  John  Pruitt, 
the  deserter.  Behind  the  negro  and  Mr.  Pruitt 
were  two  soldiers  with  guns,  and  three  soldiers 
mounted  on  horses,  and  armed,  acted  as  escort. 
The  young  officers  who  had  been  hunting  with 
Joe  Maxwell  stopped  the  wagon  and  made  in- 
quiries until  they  had  satisfied  their  curiosity. 
Joe  would  have  spoken  to  Mr.  Pruitt,  but  the 
latter,  by  an  almost  imperceptible  movement  of 
the  head,  seemed  to  forbid  it.  His  face  was  as 
serene  as  if  he  had  been  on  dress  parade.  As 
the  wagon  was  about  to  move  on,  he  spoke  : 

"Ain't  that  the  young  chap  that  works  in 
the  printin'-office  down  by  Phoenix  school- 
house?"  he  asked,  nodding  his  head  toward 
Joe,  without  looking  at  him. 

"Yes,"  said  one  of  the  young  officers. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pruitt,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "  I  wish  you'd  please  tell  him  to  be  so 
good  ez  to  git  word  to  my  wife  down  in  the 
Yarberry  settlement  that  I  won't  have  a  chance 
to  come  home  in  a  week  or  more,  an'  she'll 
hafter  do  the  best  she  kin  tell  I  git  back." 

Joe  said  he  would  be  glad  to  do  so. 

"  I   'low'd  he  would,"  said   Mr.  Pruitt,  still 

14 


198  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

speaking  to  the  young  officer;  "an'  I'm  mighty 
much  erbliged." 

Then  the  little  procession  moved  on  toward 
Hillsborough,  and  the  hunters  went  homeward. 
Miss  Nellie  Carter  was  very  much  interested. 

"  He  doesn't  look  a  bit  like  a  deserter,"  she 
said,  impulsively,  "and  I'm  sure  there's  some 
mistake.  I  don't  believe  a  deserter  could  hold 
his  head  up." 

Joe  then  made  bold  to  tell  her  what  he  had 
heard — that  Mr.  Pruitt  and  several  other  sol- 
diers had  come  home  because  they  heard  their 
families  were  suffering  for  food.  Miss  Carter 
was  very  much  interested,  and  wanted  to  go 
with  the  lad  to  visit  Mrs.  Pruitt. 

"  But  I  can't  go,"  said  Joe  ;  "  there's  nobody 
to  do  my  work  in  the  printing-office.  I'll  send 
Mrs.  Pruitt  word  to-night  by  some  of  the  ne- 
groes." 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Miss  Carter,  "  that  will 
never  do.  I'll  see  my  cousin  and  tell  him  about 
it.  You  must  go  to-day,  and  I'll  go  with  you. 
Oh,  it  mustn't  be  postponed  ;  you  must  go  this 
very  afternoon  !  Why,  what  is  this  little  news- 
paper you  are  printing  out  here  in  the  woods? 
The  woman  may  be  suffering." 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  I99 

Miss  Carter  saw  ^er  cousin,  the  editor,  and 
lost  no  time  in  telling  him  about  Mr.  Pruitt  and 
his  family.  The  editor,  who  was  one  of  the  best 
of  men,  was  so  much  interested  that,  instead  of 
sending  Joe  with  the  young  lady,  he  went  him- 
self, taking  in  his  buggy  a  stout  hamper  of  pro- 
visions. When  they  came  back,  INIiss  Carter's 
eyes  were  red,  as  if  she  had  been  crying,  and  the 
editor  looked  very  serious. 

"  I'm  very  glad  you  didn't  go,"  he  said  to 
Joe,  when  Miss  Carter  had  disappeared  in  the 
house. 

"  Was  anybody  dead  ? "  asked  Joe. 

*'  No,"  replied  the  editor.  "  Oh,  no;  nothing 
so  bad  as  that.  But  the  woman  and  her  chil- 
dren have  been  in  a  terrible  fix  !  I  don't  know 
who  is  to  blame  for  it,  but  I  shall  score  the 
county  officers  and  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society  in 
the  next  paper.  These  people  have  been  actu- 
ally in  a  starving  condition,  and  they  look  worse 
than  if  they  had  gone  through  a  spell  of  fever. 
They  are  nothing  but  skin  and  bones.  The 
main  trouble  is  that  they  live  in  such  an  out-of- 
the-way  place.  The  house  is  a  mile  from  the 
public  road,  and  hard  to  find." 

"  I   heard,"  said  Joe,  "  that  the  provost-mar- 


200  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

shal  had  something  to  do  with  holding  back 
supplies  that  ought  to  have  gone  to  Mr.  Pruitt's 
family." 

"How  could  he?"  asked  the  editor;  and 
then  he  added,  quickly  :  "  Why,  of  course  he 
could ;  he  is  in  charge  of  everything.  He  is 
judge,  jury,  lawyer,  and  general  dictator.  Who 
told  you  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  heard  it  in  town,"  said  Joe. 

"  Well,  he's  a  mean  rascal,"  said  the  editor. 
He  bade  Joe  good-evening,  and  started  in  the 
house,  but  half-way  up  the  steps  he  paused  and 
called  to  the  lad. 

"  Here's  something  I  forgot  to  ask  you 
about,"  he  said,  taking  a  letter  from  his  pocket. 
"  It  is  a  note  from  Deo  about  you.  What  do 
you  know  about  Deo  ?  " 

"  About  me  ?  "  said  Joe.  "  I  used  to  know 
Mr.  Deo  when  I  was  a  little  boy." 

"  Well,  you  are  not  such  a  big  boy  now," 
said  the  editor,  smiling.  "  Here  is  what  Deo 
says :  '  You  have  a  boy  working  in  your  print- 
ing-office who  can  make  himself  very  useful  in 
a  good  cause  when  the  time  comes.  His  name 
is  Joe  Maxwell,  and  he  is  a  very  good  friend  of 
mine.     At  least  he  used  to  be.     Before  long  I 


A   GEORGIA   FOX-HUNT.  20I 

shall  send  for  him,  and,  whether  I  send  in  the 
day  or  in  the  night,  I  want  you  to  let  him  come. 
If  I  were  to  tell  }'Ou  now  what  I  want  with  him, 
you  would  laugh  and  say  that  all  fat  men  are 
foolish.  What  I  want  him  to  do  can  be  done 
only  by  a  woman  or  a  boy.  A  woman  is  not  to 
be  thought  of,  and  I  know  of  no  boy  I  can  trust 
except  Maxwell.  Just  give  him  your  permis- 
sion beforehand,  so  that  there  will  be  no  delay.' 
Now  what  do  you  think  about  it?"  inquired 
the  editor. 

"May  I  go?"  asked  Joe. 

"  That  is  for  you  to  decide,"  said  the  editor. 
"I  have  been  knowing  Deometaii  for  nearly 
twenty  years.  He's  a  good  lawyer  and  a 
clever  man.  But,  if  you  do  go,  be  careful  of 
yourself.  Don't  get  into  any  trouble.  Tell 
Deo  that  all  of  us  like  you  out  here,  and  we 
don't  want  any  foolishness." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 
A  night's  adventures. 

It  was  the  very  next  afternoon  that  Joe 
Maxwell  received  the  expected  summons  from 
Mr.  Deometari.  The  message  was  brought  by  a 
negro  on  a  mule,  and  the  mule  seemed  to  be 
very  tired,  although  it  had  come  only  nine 
miles. 

"  I  never  is  see  no  mule  like  dis,"  said  the 
negro,  indignantly,  as  he  took  a  soiled  letter 
from  his  hat  and  handed  it  to  Joe.  "  I  start 
from  town  at  two  o'tlocks,  an'  here  'tis  mos' 
night.  I  got  me  a  stick  an'  I  hit  'er  on  one 
side,  an'  den  she'd  shy  on  t'er  side  de  road, 
an'  when  I  hit  'er  on  dat  side,  she'd  shy  on  dis 
side.  She  been  gwine  slonchways  de  whole 
blessed  way," 

Mr.  Deomatari's  note  had  neither  address 
nor  signature,  and  it  was  very  brief.  "  Come 
at   once,"    it    said.      "  You    remember   the    re- 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES. 


203 


treat  from  Laurel  Hill  and   the  otter  ?     Come 
in    by  the    jail    and    around    by  the    Branham 


The  messenger. 

place.      If  some  one  cries,   'Who  goes  there?' 
say, '  It  is  the  Relief.'  " 

Joe  turned  the  note  over  and  studied  it. 

"Who  gave  you  this?"  he  asked  the  negro. 


204  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

"  Dat  chuffy-lookin'  white  man  what  stay  dar 
at  de  tavern.  He  say  you  mustn't  wait  for  me, 
but  des  push  on.  Dem  wuz  his  ve'y  words — 
des  push  on." 

Joe  had  some  trouble  in  getting  away.  The 
editor  had  gone  off  somewhere  in  the  planta- 
tion;  and  Butterfly,  the  horse  he  proposed  to 
ride — the  horse  he  always  rode— was  in  the 
pasture,  and  a  colt  in  a  plantation  pasture  is  as 
big  a  problem  as  a  hard  sum  in  arithmetic.  The 
colt  is  like  the  answer.  It  is  there  somewhere  ; 
but  how  are  you  going  to  get  it,  and  when? 
Harbert  solved  the  problem  after  a  while  by 
cornering  the  colt  and  catching  him  ;  but  the 
sun  was  nearly  down  when  Joe  started,  and  he 
then  had  nine  miles  to  ride.  Harbert,  who  was 
a  sort  of  plantation  almanac,  said  there  would 
be  no  moon  until  after  midnight,  and  a  mighty 
small  one  then  ;  but  this  made  no  difference  to 
Joe  Maxwell.  Every  foot  of  the  road  was  as 
familiar  to  him  as  it  was  to  old  Mr.  Wall,  the 
hatter,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  remarking  that, 
if  anybody  would  bring  him  a  hatful  of  gravel 
from  the  big  road  that  led  to  Hillsborough,  he'd 
"up  an'  tell  'em  right  whar  they  scooped  it  up 
at."     Joe  not  only  knew  the  road  well,  but  he 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES.  205 

was  well  mounted.  Butterfly  had  all  the  faults 
of  a  colt  except  fear.  He  was  high-spirited  and 
nervous,  but  nothing  seemed  to  frighten  him. 
When  the  lad  started,  Harbert  ran  on  ahead  to 
unlatch  the  big  plantation  gate  that  opened  on 
the  public  road. 

"  Good-night,   Marse    Joe,"    said    the    negro. 
"I  wish  you  mighty  well." 

"  Good-night,  Harbert,"  responded  Joe,  as  he 
went  cantering  into  the  darkness. 

There  was  something  more  than  a  touch  of 
fall  in  the  evening  air,  and  Butterfly  sprang  for- 
ward eagerly,  and  chafed  at  the  bit  that  held 
him  back.  The  short,  sharp  snorts  that  came 
from  his  quivering  nostrils  showed  the  tremen- 
dous energy  he  had  in  reserve,  and  it  was  not 
until  he  had  gone  a  mile  or  more  that  he  settled 
down  into  the  long,  swift,  sweeping  gallop  that 
seemed  in  the  dim  light  to  throw  the  trees  and 
fences  behind  him.  At  a  cross-road  Joe  heard 
the  tramp  of  horses  and  the  jingling  of  spurs 
and  bridle-bits,  but  he  never  paused,  and  it  was 
not  until  long  afterward  he  learned  that  he  had 
come  near  forming  the  acquaintance  of  Wilson's 
raiders,  who  were  making  their  way  back  to  At- 
lanta. 


2o6  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

By  the  time  the  stars  had  come  out,  Joe 
could  see  the  lights  of  Hillsborough  twinkling  in 
the  distance,  and  in  a  short  time  he  had  turned 
into  the  back  street  that  led  by  the  jail  and 
made  way  across  the  town  until  he  reached  the 
square  below  the  tavern.  Then  he  turned  to 
the  left,  and  was  soon  in  front  of  Mr.  Deometari's 
room.  Boy-like,  he  was  secretly  sorry  that  some 
sentinel  had  not  challenged  him  on  the  way,  so 
that  he  could  give  the  countersign.  A  muffled 
figure,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  roused 
itself  as  Joe  rode  up. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Deometari?"  the  lad  asked. 

"  He  in  dar,"  replied  the  figure.  "  Is  you 
fum  de  plantation,  sah  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Den  I'm  to  take  yo'  hoss,"  the  negro  said. 

"  Well,  you  must  be  careful  with  him,"  said 
the  lad. 

"  Dat  I  will,  suh,  kaze  Marse  Deo  say  he 
gwine  pay  me,  an',  'sides  dat,  I  stays  at  de 
liberty  stable." 

Joe  saw  his  horse  led  away,  and  then  he 
knocked  at  Mr.  Deometari's  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  cried  that  genial  gentleman. 

"  I'm  here,  sir,"  said  Joe,  as  he  entered. 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES.  20/ 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy!  so  you  are!  and  glad 
I  am  to  see  you.  xA.nd  you  are  on  time.  I  had 
just  pulled  out  my  watch,  and  said  to  myself, 
'  In  one  short  quarter  of  an  hour  the  boy  should 
be  here,  and  I  shall  have  his  supper  ready  for 
him.'  And  just  then  you  knocked,  and  here  is 
my  watch  still  in  my  hand.  My  dear  boy,  sit 
down  and  rest  your  bones.     I  feel  better." 

Mr.  Deomatari  had  supper  for  Joe  and  himself 
brought  to  his  room,  and  as  he  ate  he  talked. 

"  You  are  a  clever  chap,"  said  Mr.  Deome- 
tari.  "  You  don't  know  how  clever  you  are. 
No,"  he  went  on,  seeing  a  curious  smile  on  Joe's 
face — "  no,  I'm  not  making  fun  of  you.  I  mean 
just  what  I  say.  Where  is  the  boy  in  this  town 
who  would  have  galloped  through  the  dark  on 
an  errand  that  he  knew  nothing  of  ?  I  tell  you, 
he  is  not  to  be  found.  But  suppose  he  could  be 
found,  wouldn't  he  bother  me  with  ten  thousand 
questions  about  what  he  was  expected  to  do, 
and  how  he  was  going  to  do  it,  and  when,  and 
which,  and  what  not  ?  Now,  I  want  to  ask  you 
why  you  came  ?  " 

"  Because  you  sent  for  me,"  said  Joe  butter- 
ing another  biscuit.  "  And  because  I  wanted  to 
find  out  all  about — " 


2o8  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

"  All  about  what?  "  asked  Mr.  Deometari. 

"  About  Mr.  Pruitt,  and — everything." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  "  I  won't  tell 
you  precisely  why  I  sent  for  you — you'll  find 
out  for  yourself ;  but  one  of  the  reasons  is  that 
I  want  you  to  go  with  a  little  party  of  us  to  a 
point  not  far  from  your  home.  You  know  the 
roads,  and  you  know  what  the  negroes  call  the 
short  cuts." 

"To-night?  "  asked  Joe. 

''  Yes,  to  -  night.  Not  now,  but  a  little 
later." 

Joe  ate  his  supper,  and  then  sat  gazing  into 
the  fire  that  had  been  kindled  on  the  hearth. 

"  I  was  just  thinking,  Mr.  Deo,"  he  said, 
after  a  while,  "  whether  I  ought  to  go  and  see 
mother." 

"  Now  that  is  the  question."  Mr.  Deome- 
tari drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  lad,  as  if 
preparing  to  argue  the  matter.  "  Of  course, 
you  feel  as  if  you  ought  to  go.  That  is  natural. 
But,  if  you  go,  you  will  have  to  give  your 
mother  some  reason  for  being  here.  You  could 
only  tell  her  that  I  had  sent  for  you.  This  is 
such  a  poor  reason  that  she  would  be  uneasy. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES.  209 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  after  a  pause,  "  I  can  come 
to  see  her  next  Sunday." 

Rubbing  his  fat  hands  together,  Mr.  Deome- 
tari  looked  at  Joe  a  long  time.  He  seemed  to 
be  meditating.  The  ring  on  his  finger  glistened 
like  a  ray  of  sunlight  that  had  been  captured 
and  was  trying  to  escape. 

"  I  want  to  take  you  around,"  he  said  to  Joe 
after  a  while,  "  and  introduce  you  to  Captain 
Johnson,  our  worthy  provost-marshal." 

"  Me  ?  "  asked  the  lad,  in  a  tone  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Deometari.  "  Why  not  ?  A 
bright  boy  like  vou  should  be  acquainted  with 
all  our  great  military  men.  Our  noble  captain 
would  be  very  glad  to  see  you  if  he  knew  as 
much  about  your  visit  as  I  do." 

"  But  as  it  is,"  said  Joe,  quicklv,  "  he  doesn't 
know  any  more  about  it  than  I  do." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Deometari, 
in  a  bantering  tone,  "don't  get  impatient.  It 
is  so  very  simple  that  all  our  plans  might  be 
spoiled  if  I  told  you.  Now,  then,"  he  continued, 
looking  at  his  watch,  "  if  3'ou  are  ready,  we  will 
go.  You  have  no  overcoat,  but  my  shawl  here 
will  answer  just  as  well." 


210  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

Joe  protested  that  he  never  wore  an  over- 
coat, even  in  the  coldest  weather;  but  his  pro- 
test had  no  effect  on  Mr.  Deometari,  who  gave 
the  shawl  a  dexterous  turn  and  wrapped  Joe  in 
it  from  head  to  heels.  Then  he  fastened  it  at 
the  lad's  throat  with  a  long  steel  pin  that  had  a 
handle  like  a  dagger. 

"  Why,  I  look  just  like  a  girl,"  said  Joe, 
glancing  down  at  his  feet. 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Josephine,"  laughed  Mr. 
Deometari;  "just  take  my  arm." 

The  provost-marshal's  office  was  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  public  square  from  the  tavern, 
and  Mr.  Deometari,  instead  of  following  the 
sidewalk,  went  through  the  court-house  yard. 
There  was  not  much  formality  observed  around 
the  office.  There  was  no  sentinel  stationed  at 
the  door,  w^hich  was  opened  (in  response  to 
Mr.  Deometari's  knock)  by  a  small  negro  boy. 
Down  a  little  passage-way,  or  hall,  Mr.  Deo- 
metari went,  followed  by  Joe.  A  light  shone 
from  a  door  at  the  end  of  a  passage  on  the  left, 
and  into  this  door  Mr.  Deometari  went  without 
ceremony.  There  was  not  much  furniture  in 
the  room — four  chairs,  a  lounge,  and  a  table.  A 
sword    hung   on    the  wall,  between    lithograph 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES. 


211 


portraits  of  General  Lee  and  Stonewall  Jackson; 
and  on  one  side  was  a  long  array  of  pigeon- 
holes full  of  papers.  A  man  sat  at  the  table, 
and  he  was  so  busily  engaged  in  writing  that 
he  nodded  without  looking  up  from  his  work. 


The  door  attendant 


"  Henderson,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  "  I  have 
company  to-night.  I  want  you  to  know  this 
young  man.  His  name  is  Joe  Maxwell.  He  is 
an  honorary  member  of  the  Relief  Committee." 


212  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

At  this  Henderson  wiped  his  pen  on  his 
head  and  laid  it  down.  Then  he  peered  across 
the  table  at  Joe.  The  two  candles  that  gave 
him  light  \vere  so  close  to  his  eyes  that  they 
blinded  him  when  he  lifted  his  face. 

"  Maxwell,  did  you  say  ? — All  right,  Mr. 
Maxwell ;  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Excuse  my 
hand  ;  it  is  full  of  ink." 

Mr.  Henderson  had  a  soft,  gentle  voice,  and 
his  hand,  although  it  was  splashed  with  ink, 
was  as  delicate  as  that  of  a  woman. 

"  Is  this  the  Mr.  Henderson  j^ou  were  telling 
me  about  some  time  ago  ? "  asked  Joe,  turning 
to  Mr.  Deometari.  "  I  mean  the  Mr.  Henderson 
who  was  sick  when  you  retreated  from  Laurel 
Hill?" 

"  The  same,"  said  Mr.  Deometari. 

Mr.  Henderson  laughed  softly  to  hide  his 
surprise,  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  rose  from 
his  seat.  Whatever  he  was  going  to  say  was 
left  unsaid.  At  that  moment  a  knock  that 
echoed  down  the  hallway  came  on  the  outer 
door,  and  it  was  followed  almost  immediately 
by  the  firm  and  measured  tread  of  some  new- 
comer. Then  there  appeared  in  the  doorway 
the  serene  face  of  Mr.  Archie  Blandford.     He 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES.  21 3 

glanced  around  the  room  half-smiling  until  his 
eyes  fell  on  Joe,  and  then  the  shadowy  smile 
gave  place  to  an  unmistakable  frown.  Joe  saw 
it,  and  for  the  first  time  felt  that  his  position 
was  a  peculiar  one,  to  say  the  least.  He  began 
to  feel  very  uncomfortable,  and  this  feeling  was 
not  relieved  by  the  curt  nod  of  recognition  that 
Mr.  Blandford  gave  him.  He  was  a  sensitive 
lad,  and  it  was  not  pleasant  to  realize  that  he 
was  regarded  as  an  intruder.  He  looked  at  Mr. 
Deometari,  but  that  gentleman  seemed  to  be 
absorbed  in  a  study  of  the  portraits  on  the  wall. 
Mr.  Blandford  advanced  a  few  steps  into  the 
room,  hesitated,  and  then  said,  abruptly : 

"  Deo  !  let  me  see  you  a  moment." 

The  two  men  went  into  the  hall  and  as  far 
as  the  outer  door,  and,  although  they  talked 
in  subdued  tones,  the  passage  took  the  place  of 
a  speaking-tube,  and  every  word  they  uttered 
could  be  heard  by  Joe  Maxwell  and  Mr.  Hen- 
derson. 

"  Deo,"  said  Mr.  Blandford,  "  what  under  the 
sun  is  Maxwell  doing  here?  He  ought  to  be 
at  home  in  bed." 

"  He  is  here,"  Mr.  Deometari  explained,  "  at 
m}'  invitation." 

15 


214  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

"  But  your  reason  must  tell  you,  Deo,  that 
that  child  ought  not  to  be  mixed  up  in  this 
night's  business.  It  is  almost  certain  to  be  seri- 
ous." 

"  That  is  precisely  the  reason  he  is  here," 
said  Mr.  Deometari.  "  I  might  preach  to  you 
from  now  until  doomsday,  and  you'd  never  lis- 
ten to  me.  But,  with  that  boy  looking  at  you, 
you'll  keep  your  temper.  I  know  you  better 
than  you  know  yourself.  You  came  here  to- 
night with  your  mind  made  up  to  do  something 
rash.  I  read  it  in  your  face  last  night ;  I  saw  it 
in  your  eyes  this  morning;  I  hear  it  in  your 
voice  now.  My  dear  fellow,  it  will  never  do  in 
the  world.  You  would  ruin  everything.  What 
you  intended  to  do,  you  won't  dare  to  do  with 
that  boy  looking  at  you.  And  there's  another 
reason :  if  this  man  Johnson  is  to  be  taken  out 
of  the  county,  the  best  route  is  by  Armour's 
Ferry,  and  Maxwell  knows  every  foot  of  the 
road." 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  Mr.  Henderson 
went  to  the  door  and  said  : 

"  You  two  might  as  well  come  in  here  and 
have  it  out.  We  can  hear  every  word  you 
say." 


A   NIGHTS   ADVENTURES.  21 5 

They  came  back  into  the  room,  Mr.  Bland- 
ford  smiling,  and  Mr.  Deometari  a  little  flushed. 

"  I  forgot  to  shake  hands  with  you  just  now," 
said  Mr.  Blandford,  going  over  to  Joe  and  seiz- 
insr  the  lad's  hand.  "  It  wasn't  because  I  don't 
like  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Joe.  "  1  don't  under- 
stand what  you  and  Mr.  Deo  were  talking 
about,  but  I  don't  wan't  to  be  in  the  way." 

"  You  are  not  in  the  way  at  all,"  said  Mr. 
Deometari,  emphatically. 

"  I  should  say  not,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Blandford, 
heartily.  "Deo  is  right  and  I  was  wrong.  I'd 
be  happy  if  I  wasn't  in  anybody's  way  any  more 
than  you  are.  You'll  find  out  when  you  grow 
bigger  that  a  man  never  gets  too  old  to  be  a 
fool."  With  that  he  reached  under  his  over- 
coat and  unbuckled  a  heavy  pistol,  and  placed 
it  on  the  mantel. — "You  see,"  he  said  to  Mr. 
Deometari,  "  I  am  making  a  complete  surrender. 
I  don't  want  to  have  that  gun  where  I  can  get 
my  hands  on  it  when  I  see  our  friend  Captain 
Johnson." 

"  You  may  buckle  on  your  pistol,"  remarked 
Mr.  Henderson,  softly.  "You  won't  see  the 
captain  to-night." 


2l6  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

"  Thunderation  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Deometari, 
springing  to  his  feet.  "  We  must  see  him ! 
Pruitt  is  in  the  guard-house.  Sick  or  well, 
Captain  Johnson  must  travel  with  us  this  night. 
I  don't  want  him  killed  or  hurt,  but  the  scoun- 
drel shall  strut  around  this  town  no  more." 

"  It's  just  as  I  tell  you,"  said  Henderson,  in 
his  gentle  way  ;  "  you'll  not  see  him  to-night." 

Mr.  Blandford  laughed,  as  though  he  re- 
garded the  matter  as  a  joke,  while  Mr.  Hender- 
son began  to  fumble  among  some  papers  on 
the  table.  He  selected  from  these  three  little 
documents,  which  he  spread  out  before  him, 
one  on  the  other.  Then  he  looked  at  the  other 
two  men  and  smiled. 

"  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  "  this  is  a  very 
serious  matter.  You  know  this  man  Johnson 
as  well  as  we  do,  and  you  know  that  the  time 
has  come  to  get  rid  of  him." 

"  I  know  him  a  great  deal  better  than  either 
of  you,"  said  Mr.  Henderson,  still  smiling,  "  and 
that  is  the  reason  he's  not  here  to-night.  That 
is  the  reason  you 'won't  see  him." 

Mr.  Deometari  paced  back  and  forth  on  the 
floor,  pulling  his  whiskers,  while  Mr.  Blandford 
drummed  impatiently  on  the  table. 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES.  21/ 

"  The  trouble  is,"  Mr.  Henderson  went  on, 
still  addressing-  Mr.  Deometari,  "  that  we  are 
both  afraid  of  Archie  Blandford's  temper." 

"  Now,  just  listen  at  that !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Blandford.  "  Why,  you'll  make  this  chap  here 
think  I'm  vicious.  He'll  believe  I'm  a  man- 
eater." 

"  We  both  know  how  he  feels  toward  Cap- 
tain Johnson,"  Mr.  Henderson  continued,  not 
heeding  the  interruption,  "  and  we  have  both 
been  trying  to  prevent  him  from  doing  any- 
thing he  might  regret.  I  think  your  plan  would 
have  succeeded ;  and  I'm  glad  you  brought 
Maxwell,  anyhow,  because  I  like  to  meet  a 
bright  boy  once  in  a  while  ;  but  my  plan  is 
the  best,  after  all,  for  Captain  Johnson  is 
gone." 

Mr.  Deometari  stopped  walking  the  floor, 
and  sat  down.     "  Tell  us  about  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Henderson,  "  here  is  some 
correspondence  that  came  to  Captain  Johnson 
through  the  post-office.  There  are  three  letters. 
We  will  call  this  number  one  : 

"  '  Sir :  It  has  been  noticed  that  you  have 
refused  to  forward  supplies  intended  for  the 
wives    and    children   of   Confederate    soldiers. 


2l8  ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

This  refers  especially  to  the  wife  and  children 
of  one  John  Pruitt.' 

"  There  is  no  signature,"  said  Mr.  Hender- 
son. "  This  " — taking  up  another  document — 
"  we  will  call  number  two." 

"  '  Sir :  It  is  known  that  no  supplies  have  left 
this  post  for  the  wife  and  children  of  one  John 
Pruitt.    Will  the  Relief  Committee  have  to  act? 

"  Here,"  continued  Mr.  Henderson,  "  is  the 
last.     It  is  number  three  : 

"  '  Sir :  John  Pruitt  is  in  jail,  where  he  can 
not  help  himself.  The  Relief  Committee  will 
meet  to-morrow  night.  Hold  yourself  in  readi- 
ness to  hear  again  the  story  of  the  retreat  from 
Laurel  Hill'  " 

"Well?"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  as  Mr.  Hen- 
derson paused. 

"  Well,  the  man  was  worried  nearly  to  death. 
He  was  in  a  continual  fidget.  At  last  he  came 
to  me  and  talked  the  matter  over.  That  was 
yesterday.  We  went  over  the  Laurel  Hill  inci- 
dents together,  and  I  used  Archie  Blandford's 
name  pretty  freely.  The  upshot  of  it  was  that 
I  advised  Captain  Johnson  to  report  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  post  in  Macon,  and  he  took  my 
advice." 


A   NIGHT'S    ADVENTURES.  219 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  dangerous  man  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Blandford,  turning  to  Joe. 

"  Not  now,"  replied  Joe.  "  But  your  eyes 
are  very  bright." 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  they  were  as  bright  as 
yours !  "  said  Mr.  Blandford,  laughing. 

"  So  we've  had  all  our  trouble  for  nothing," 
Mr.  Deometari  suggested. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mr.  Henderson  ;  "  we've  been 
saved  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Johnson  is  gone, 
and  I  have  here  an  order  for  Pruitt's  release." 

"  If  we  had  known  all  this,"  remarked  Mr. 
Deometari,  "  Maxwell  would  be  safe  in  bed, 
where  I  suspect  he  ought  to  be. — My  son,"  he 
went  on,  "  it  is  a  pity  to  have  you  riding  back 
and  forth  in  the  night." 

*'  Just  to  please  a  fat  man  with  the  whimsies," 
Mr.  Blandford  observed. 

"  Oh,  it  is  no  trouble  to  me,"  Joe  protested. 
"  It  is  almost  like  a  book,  only  I  don't  exactly 
understand  it  all.  What  were  you  going  to  do 
with  Captain  Johnson  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  oh,  I — well,  the  fact  is,  Deo  was  com- 
manding my  regiment  to-night,"  replied  Mr. 
Blandford.     He  seemed  to  be  embarrassed. 

"  It  is  all  very  simple,"  said  Mr.  Deometari. 


220  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

"  When  you  get  a  little  older  you'll  find  a  great 
many  people  like  Captain  Johnson.  He  had  a 
little  power,  and  he  has  used  it  so  as  to  turn  all 
the  people  here  against  him.  Another  trouble 
is,  that  he  used  to  belong  to  the  regulars,  where 
the  discipline  is  as  strict  as  it  can  be.  He  has 
tried  to  be  too  strict  here,  and  these  Confeder- 
ate people  won't  stand  it.  The  private  soldier 
thinks  he  is  as  good  as  a  commissioned  officer, 
and  sometimes  better.  A  provost-marshal  is  a 
sort  of  military  chief  of  police,  and,  when  his 
commander  is  as  far  away  as  Macon,  he  can  do 
a  good  deal  of  harm,  especially  if  he  has  a  streak 
of  meanness  running  through  him.  Johnson  has 
made  enemies  here  by  the  hundred.  Worst  of 
all,  he  has  treated  the  wives  of  soldiers  very 
badly.  You  know  all  about  his  spite  at  John 
Pruitt.  We  were  going  to  take  him  to-night  to 
Armour's  Ferry,  put  him  across  the  river,  and 
give  him  to  understand  that  we  could  get  along 
without  him." 

"And  he  would  never  come  back?"  asked  Joe. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Deometari,  "  he  would  never 
come  back." 

"  Was  Mr.  Blandford  very  mad  with  him  ?  " 
inquired  the  lad. 


A   NIGHT'S   ADVENTURES.  221 

"  Yes,  I  was,"  that  gentleman  admitted, 
laughing  a  little  and  looking  uncomfortable. 
"  He  had  me  arrested  once,  and  tried  to  make 
me  shovel  sand  into  a  barrel  that  was  open  at 
both  ends.     What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  must  have  been  very  funny,"  said 
Joe,  laughing  heartily. 

"  I  reckon  it  was  funny,"  observed  Mr.  Bland- 
ford,  grimly,  "  but  the  rascal  wouldn't  have  en- 
joyed the  fun  if  it  hadn't  been  for  this  big  fat 
man  here." 

"  You  are  not  referring  to  me,  I  hope,"  said 
Mr.  Henderson,  so  seriously  that  the  rest  burst 
out  laughing. 

''  Come,  now,"  Mr.  Deometari  suggested. 
"  Let's  let  in  some  fresh  air  on  poor  John 
Pruitt." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  after 
Mr.  Pruitt  was  released  from  the  guard-house, 
and  so  Joe  mounted  his  horse  and  cantered  off 
to  the  plantation.  Butterfly  was  very  glad  to 
have  his  head  turned  in  that  direction,  and  he 
went  so  swiftly  that  in  the  course  of  an  hour 
Joe  was  at  home  and  in  bed.  His  mind  was  so 
full  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  that  he  went 
over   it    all    in    his    slumber.     Mr.    Deometari, 


222  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

chunky  as  he  was,  took  the  place  of  Porthos,  the 
big  musketeer  ;  Mr.  Blandford  was  D'Artagnan  ; 
Mr.  Henderson  was  the  sleek  and  slender  one 
(Aramis)  whose  name  Joe  could  not  remember 
in  his  dreams ;  and  even  Mr.  Pruitt  grew  into  a 
romantic  figure. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   CURTAIN   FALLS. 

Somehow,  after  Joe  Maxwell's  experience 
with  Mr.  Deometari,  Mr.  Blandford,  and  the 
rest,  events  of  importance  seemed  to  follow 
each  other  more  rapidly.  Some  of  them  were 
surprising,  and  all  confusing.  It  was  in  the 
month  of  July  that  Atlanta  was  taken  by  Gen- 
eral Sherman.  A  few  weeks  afterward,  Harbert, 
while  cleaning  and  oiling  the  old  Washington 
No.  2  hand-press  in  The  Coimtrynian  office,  told 
Joe  that  the  Federal  army  would  come  marching 
through  the  county  before  long. 

"  Who  told  you  ? "  asked  Joe. 

"  De  word  done  come,"  replied  Harbert 
"  Hit  bleeze  ter  be  so,  kaze  all  de  niggers  done 
hear  talk  un  it.  We-all  will  wake  up  some  er 
deze  odd-come-shorts  an'  fin'  de  Yankees  des 
a-swarmin'  all  'roun'  here." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Joe  inquired, 

laughing. 


224  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

"  Oh,  you  kin  laugh,  Marse  Joe,  but  deyer 
comin'.  What  I  gwine  do?  Well,  suh,  I'm 
gwine  ter  git  up  an'  look  at  um,  an'  may  be  tip 
my  hat  ter  some  er  de  big-bugs  'mongst  um, 
an'  den  I'm  gwine  on  'bout  my  business.  I  don't 
speck  deyer  gwine  ter  bodder  folks  what  don't 
bodder  dem,  is  dey  ?  " 

Joe  had  forgotten  this  conversation  until  it 
was  recalled  to  his  mind  one  morning  shortly 
after  his  night  ride  to  Hillsborough.  General 
Sherman  had  swung  loose  from  Atlanta,  and  was 
marching  down  through  middle  Georgia.  The 
people  that  Joe  saw  went  about  with  anxious 
faces,  and  even  the  negroes  were  frightened. 
Before  this  vast  host  all  sorts  of  rumors  fled, 
carrying  fear  and  consternation  to  the  peaceful 
plantations.  At  last,  one  cold,  drizzly  day  in 
November,  Joe  Maxwell,  trudging  along  the 
road  on  his  way  to  the  printing-office,  heard  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  behind  him,  and  two  horsemen 
in  blue  came  galloping  along.  They  reined  up 
their  horses,  and  inquired  the  distance  to  Hills- 
borough, and  then  went  galloping  on  again. 
They  were  couriers  carrying  dispatches  from 
the  Twentieth  Army  Corps  to  General  Sherman. 

There  was  hurrying  to  and  fro  on  the  plan- 


THE   CURTAIN    FALLS. 


'225 


tation  after  this.  The  horses  and  mules  were 
driven  to  a  remote  field  in  which  there  was  a 
large  swamp.     Joe  carried  Butterfly  and  teth- 


Even  the  negroes  were  frightened. 

ered  him  in  the  very  middle  of  the  swamp, 
where  he  could  get  plenty  of  water  to  drink 
and  young  cane  to  eat.     During  the  next  ten 


226  ON   THE   PLANTATION. 

hours  the  plantation,  just  as  Harbert  predicted, 
fairly  swarmed  with  foraging  parties  of  Federals. 
Guided  by  some  of  the  negroes,  they  found  the 
horses  and  mules  and  other  stock  and  drove 
them  off;  and,  when  Joe  heard  of  it,  he  felt  like 
crying  over  the  loss  of  Butterfly.  The  horse 
did  not  belong  to  him,  but  he  had  trained  it 
from  a  colt,  and  it  was  his  whenever  he  wanted 
to  use  it,  day  or  night.  Yet  Butterfly  was  soon 
forgotten  in  the  excitement  and  confusion  cre- 
ated by  the  foragers,  who  swept  through  the 
plantations,  levying  in  the  name  of  war  on  the 
live-stock,  and  ransacking  the  not  too  well-filled 
smoke-houses  and  barns  in  search  of  supplies. 

Joe  Maxwell  saw  a  good  deal  of  these  for- 
agers, and  he  found  them  all,  with  one  excep- 
tion, to  be  good-humored.  The  exception  was 
a  German,  who  could  scarcely  speak  English 
enough  to  make  himself  understood.  This  Ger- 
man, when  he  came  to  the  store-room  where  the 
hats  were  kept,  wanted  to  take  off  as  many  as 
his  horse  could  carry,  and  he  became  very  angry 
when  Joe  protested.  He  grew  so  angry,  in 
fact,  that  he  would  have  fired  the  building.  He 
lit  a  match,  drew  together  a  lot  of  old  papers 
and  other  rubbish,  and  was  in  the  act  of  firing 


THE    CURTAIN    FALLS.  22/ 

it,  when  an  officer  ran  in  and  gave  him  a  tre- 
mendous paddling  with  the  flat  of  his  sword. 
It  was  an  exhibition  as  funny  as  a  scene  in  the 
circus,  and  Joe  enjoyed  it  as  thoroughly  as  he 
could  under  the  circumstances.  By  night,  all 
the  foragers  had  disappeared. 

The  army  had  gone  into  camp  at  Denham's 
Mill,  and  Joe  supposed  that  it  would  march  on  to 
Hillsborough,  but  in  this  he  was  mistaken.  It 
turned  sharply  to  the  left  the  next  morning  and 
marched  toward  Milledgeville.  Joe  had  aim- 
lessly wandered  along  this  road,  as  he  had  done 
a  hundred  times  before,  and  finally  seated  him- 
self on  the  fence  near  an  old  school-house,  and 
began  to  whittle  on  a  rail.  Before  he  knew  it 
the  troops  were  upon  him.  He  kept  his  seat, 
and  the  Twentieth  Army  Corps,  commanded  by 
General  Slocura,  passed  in  review  before  him. 
It  was  an  imposing  array  as  to  numbers,  but  not 
as  to  appearance.  For  once  and  for  all,  so  far 
as  Joe  was  concerned,  the  glamour  and  romance 
of  war  were  dispelled.  The  skies  were  heavy 
with  clouds,  and  a  fine,  irritating  mist  sifted 
down.  The  road  was  more  than  ankle-deep  in 
mud,  and  even  the  fields  were  boggy.  There 
was   nothing   gay   about   this   vast    procession, 


228 


ON   THE    PLANTATION. 


with  its  tramping  soldiers,  its  clattering  horse- 
men, and  its  lumbering  wagons,  except  the  tem- 
per of  the  men.  They  splashed  through  the 
mud,  cracking  their  jokes  and  singing  snatches 
of  songs. 


A  forager. 

Joe  Maxwell,  sitting  on  the  fence,  was  the 
subject  of  many  a  jest,  as  the  good-humored 
men  marched  by. 

"  Hello,  Johnny  !     Where's  your  parasol  ?  " 


THE   CURTAIN    FALLS.  229 

"Jump  down,  Johnny,  and  let  me  kiss  you 
good-by  !  " 

"Johnny,  if  you  are  tired,  get  up  behind  and 
ride  ! " 

"  Run  and  get  j^our  trunk,  Johnn}^  and  get 
aboard  !  " 

"  He's  a  bushwhacker,  boys.  If  he  bats  his 
eyes,  I'm  a-goin'  to  dodge  !  " 

"  Where's  the  rest  of  your  regiment,  John- 

ny?" 

"  If  there  was  another  one  of  'em  a-settin'  on 
the  fence,  on  t'other  side,  I'd  say  we  was  sur- 
rounded !  " 

These  and  hundreds  of  other  comments,  ex- 
clamations, and  questions,  Joe  was  made  the  tar- 
get of ;  and,  if  he  stood  the  fire  of  them  with 
unusual  calmness,  it  was  because  this  huge  pano- 
rama seemed  to  him  to  be  the  outcome  of  some 
wild  dream.  That  the  Federal  army  should  be 
plunging  through  that  peaceful  region,  after  all 
he  had  seen  in  the  newspapers  about  Confeder- 
ate victories,  seemed  to  him  to  be  an  impossi- 
bility. The  voices  of  the  men,  and  their  laugh- 
ter, sounded  vague  and  insubstantial.  It  was 
surely  a  dream  that  had  stripped  war  of  its  glit- 
teiing  trappings  and  its  flying  banners.     It  was 

]6 


230  ON    THE    PLANTATION. 

surely  the  distortion  of  a  dream  that  tacked  on 
to  this  procession  of  armed  men  droves  of  cows, 
horses,  and  mules,  and  wagon-loads  of  bateaux  ! 
Joe  had  read  of  pontoon  bridges,  but  he  had 
never  heard  of  a  pontoon  train,  nor  did  he  know 
that  bateaux  were  a  part  of  the  baggage  of  this 
invading  army. 

But  it  all  passed  after  a  while,  and  then  Joe 
discovered  that  he  had  not  been  dreaming  at 
all.  He  jumped  from  the  fence  and  made  his 
way  home  through  the  fields.  Never  before, 
since  its  settlement,  had  such  peace  and  quiet 
reigned  on  the  plantation.  The  horses  and 
mules  were  gone,  and  many  of  the  negro  cabins 
were  empty.  Harbert  was  going  about  as  busy 
as  ever,  and  some  of  the  older  negroes  were  in 
their  accustomed  places,  but  the  younger  ones, 
especially  those  who,  by  reason  of  their  field- 
work,  had  not  been  on  familiar  terms  with  their 
master  and  mistress,  had  followed  the  Federal 
army.  Those  that  remained  had  been  informed 
by  the  editor  that  they  were  free  ;  and  so  it  hap- 
pened, in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  that  the  old 
things  had  passed  away  and  all  was  new. 

In  a  corner  of  the  fence,  not  far  from  the 
road,  Joe  found  an  old  negro  woman  shivering 


THE   CURTAIN    FALLS.  23 1 

and  moaning.     Near  her  lay  an  old  negro  man, 
his  shoulders  covered  with  an  old  ragged  shawl. 
"  Who  is  that  lying  there  ?  "  asked  Joe. 
"  It  my  ole  man,  suh." 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 
"  He  dead,  suh  !      But,  bless  God,  he  died 
free !  "  * 

It  was  a  pitiful  sight,  and  a  pitiable  ending 
of  the  old  couple's  dream  of  freedom.  Harbert 
and  the  other  negroes  buried  the  old  man,  and 
the  old  woman  was  made  comfortable  in  one  of 
the  empty  cabins ;  she  never  ceased  to  bless 
"  little  marster,"  as  she  called  Joe,  giving  him  all 
the  credit  for  everything  that  was  done  for  her. 
Old  as  she  was,  she  and  her  husband  had  fol- 
lowed the  army  for  many  a  weary  mile  on  the 
road  to  freedom.  The  old  man  found  it  in  the 
fence  corner,  and  a  few  weeks  later  the  old 
woman  found  it  in  the  humble  cabin. 

The  next  morning,  as  Joe  Maxwell  was  loiter- 
ing around  the  printing-ofifice,  talking  to  the 
editor,  Butterfly  came  galloping  up,  ridden  by 
Mink,  who  was  no  longer  a  runaway. 

*  This  incident  has  had  many  adaptations.  It  occurred  just 
as  it  is  given  here,  and  was  published  afterward  in  The  Coun- 
tryman. 


232  ON    THE   PLANTATION. 

"  I  seed  you  put  'im  out  in  de  swamp  dar, 
Mars'  Joe,  an'  den  I  seed  some  er  de  yuther 
niggers  gwine  dar  'long  wid  dem  Yankee  mens, 
an'  1  say  ter  myse'f  dat  1  better  go  dar  an'  git 
'im ;  so  I  tuck  'im  down  on  de  river,  an'  here  he 
is.  He  mayn't  be  ez  fatez  he  wuz,  but  he  des  ez 
game  ez  he  yever  is  been." 

Joe  was  pleased,  and  the  editor  was  pleased ; 
and  it  happened  that  Mink  became  one  of  the 
tenants  on  the  plantation,  and  after  a  while  he 
bought  a  little  farm  of  his  own,  and  prospered 
and  thrived. 

But  this  is  carrying  a  simple  chronicle  too 
far.  It  can  not  be  spun  out  here  and  now  so 
as  to  show  the  great  changes  that  have  been 
wrought — the  healing  of  the  wounds  of  war ; 
the  lifting  up  of  a  section  from  ruin  and  poverty 
to  prosperity ;  the  molding  of  the  beauty,  the 
courage,  the  energy,  and  the  strength  of  the  old 
civilization  into  the  new ;  the  gradual  uplifting 
of  a  lowly  race.  All  these  things  can  not  be 
told  of  here.  The  fire  burns  low,  and  the  tale 
is  ended. 

The  plantation  newspaper  was  issued  a  little 
while  longer,  but  in  a  land  filled  with  desolation 
and  despair  its  editor  could  not  hope  to  see  it 


THE   CURTAIN    FALLS.  233 

survive.  A  larger  world  beckoned  to  Joe  Max- 
well, and  he  went  out  into  it.  And  it  came 
about  that  on  every  side  he  found  loving  hearts 
to  comfort  him  and  strong  and  friendly  hands 
to  guide  him.  He  found  new  associations  and 
formed  new  ties.  In  a  humble  way  he  made  a 
name  for  himself,  but  the  old  plantation  days 
still  live  in  his  dreams. 


THE     END. 


D.   APPLETON   &   CO.'S   PUBLICATIONS. 


S>-er  Rabbit  divulges  his  plans.     (From  "  Uncle  Remus.") 

T  TXCLE  REHfUS :    his  Songs  and  his  Sayings.     The 
^^      Folk-lore  of  the  Old  Plantation.     By  Joel  Chandler  Har- 
ris.    Illustrated  from  Drawings  by  F.  S.  Church  and  J.  H. 
MosER,  of  Georgia.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  idea  of  preserving  and  publishing  these  legends  in  the  form  in  which  the  old 
plantation  negroes  actually  tell  them,  is  altogether  one  of  the  happiest  literary  con- 
ceptions of  the  day.  And  very  admirably  is  the  work  done.  .  .  .  In  such  touches  lies 
the  charm  of  this  fascinating  little  volume  of  legends,  which  deserves  to  be  placed  on  a 
level  with  Reincks  Fuchs  for  its  quaint  humor,  without  reference  to  the  ethnological 
interest  possessed  by  these  stories,  as  indicating,  perhaps,  a  common  origin  for  very 
widely  severed  races." — London  Spectator. 

"  We  are  just  discovering  what  admirable  literary  material  there  is  at  home,  what 
a  great  mine  there  is  to  explore,  and  how  quaint  and  peculiar  is  the  material  which 
can  be  dug  up.  Mr.  Harris  s  book  maybe  looked  on  in  a  double  light — either  as  a 
pleasant  volume  recounting  the  stories  told  by  a  typical  old  colored  man  to  a  child, 
or  as  a  valuable  contribution  to  our  somewhat  meager  folk-lo:e.  .  .  .  To  Northern 
readers  the  story  of  Brer  (Brother — Brudder)  Rabbit  may  be  novel.  To  those  familiar 
with  plantation  life,  who  have  listened  to  these  quaint  old  stories,  who  have  still  tender 
reminiscences  of  some  good  old  mauma  who  told  these  wondrous  adventures  to  them 
when  they  were  children,  Brer  Rabbit,  the  Tar  Baby,  and  Brer  Fox  come  back  again 
with  all  the  past  pleasures  of  younger  days." — New  York  Times. 

"  Uncle  Remus's  sayings  on  current  happenings  are  very  shrewd  and  bright,  and 
the  plantation  and  revival  songs  are  choice  specimens  of  their  sort." — Boston  Journal. 

'*  The  volume  is  a  most  readable  one,  whether  it  be  regarded  as  a  humorous  book 
merely,  or  as  a  contribution  to  the  literature  of  folk-lore." — New  York  World. 

"This  is  a  thorouafhly  amusing  book,  and  is  much  the  best  humorous  compilation 
that  has  been  put  before  the  American  public  for  many  a  day." — Philadelphia  Tele- 
graph.   

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OURMALIN'S      TIME     CHEQUES.        By   F. 

Anstey,  author  of  "Vice  Versa,"  "  The  Giant's  Robe,"  etc. 

"  Mr.  Anstey  has  done  nothing  more  original  or  fantastic  with  more  success."— 
The  Nation. 

"  A  curious  conceit  and  very  entertaining  story." — Boston  Adziertiser. 

"  Each  cheque  is  good  for  several  laughs." — New  York  Herald. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  sprightly  ami  amusingly  whimsical." — Boston  Courier. 

"  A  very  clever  tale  of  fantastic  humor  .  .  .  The  literary  style  is  graceful  and 
iparkling." — Chicago  Times. 

"  Certainly  one  of  the  most  diverting  books  of  the  season." — Brooklyn  Times. 

"  Exquisitely  printed  and  bound." — Philadelphia  Times. 


F 


ROM     SHADOW     TO     SUNLIGHT.     By    the 

Marquis  of  Lorne. 

"  In  these  days  of  princely  criticism — that  is  to  say,  criticism  of  princes — it  is  re- 
freshing to  meet  a  really  good  bit  of  aristocratic  literary  work,  albeit  the  author  i-  only 
a  prince-in-law.  .  .  .  The  theme  chosen  by  the  Marquis  makes  his  story  attractive  to 
Americans." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  A  charming  book." — Citicinnati  Enquirer. 

/I  DOTTING  AN  ABANDONED  FARM.  By 
■^^    Kate  Sanborn. 

"  A  sunny,  pungent,  humorous  sketch." — Chicago  Tiines. 

"A  laughable  picture  of  the  grievous  experiences  of  a  young  woman  who  sought 
to  demonstrate  the  idea  that  a  woman  can  faim.  .  .  .  The  drakes  refused  to  lay;  the 
vegetables  refused  to  come  up;  and  the  taxes  would  not  go  down." — Minneapolis 
Tribune. 

"The  book  is  dainty  in  exterior  as  well  as  rich  within;  and  to  those  who  seek 
health,  moral  and  physical,  we  say,  '  Buy  it.'  " — Montreal  Gazette. 

"  If  any  one  wants  an  hour's  entertainment  for  a  warm  sunny  day  on  the  piazza, 
or  a  cold  wet  day  by  the  log-fire,  this  is  the  book  that  will  furnish  it." — N'ezu  York 
Observer. 

"  Many  is  the  good  laugh  the  reader  will  have  over  its  pages." — Phi 
Ledger. 


o 


N  THE  LAKE  OF  L  UCERNF,  and  other  Stories. 
By  Beatrice  Whitby,  author  of  "A  Matter  of  Skill,"  "The 
Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick,"  etc. 

"  Six  short  stories  carefully  and  conscientiously  finished,  and  told  with  the  graceful 
ease  of  the  practiced  raconteur." — Literary  Digest. 

"  The  stories  are  pleasantly  told  in  light  and  delicate  vein,  and  are  sure  to  be  ac- 
ceptable to  the  friends  Miss  Whitby  has  already  made  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic." — ■ 
Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"Very  dainty,  not  only  in  mechanical  workmanship  but  in  matter  and  manner."— 
Boston  Advertiser. 

Each,  i6mo,  half  cloth,  with  specially  designed  cover,  £o  cents. 


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''rHE  FAITH  DOCTOR.     By  Edward  Eggllstcn, 

-»        author  of  "The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster,"  "The  Circuit  Rider," 
etc.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"An  excellent  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  With  each  new  novel  the  author  of  'The 
Hoosier  Schoolmaster '  enlarges  his  audience,  and  surprises  old  friends  by  reserve  forces 
unsuspected.  Sterling  integrity  ot  character  and  high  moral  motives  illuminate  Dr. 
F.ggleston'':  fictiiin,  nnd  assure  its  jilnce  m  the  literature  of  America  which  is  to  stand 
as  a  worthy  reflex  of  the  best  thoughts  oi  this  age." — Afw  York  World. 

"  ()ne  of  //te  novels  ?f  the  decade." — Rochester  Union  avd  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  extremely  fortunate  that  the  fine  subject  indicated  in  the  title  should  have 
fallen  into  such  competent  hands." — Pittsburgh  Chrotiicle-Tclegraph. 

"Much  skill  is  shown  by  the  author  in  making  these  'fads'  the  basis  of  a  rovel  of 
great  interest.  .  .  .  One  who  tries  to  keep  in  the  current  of  good  novel-reading  must 
certainly  find  time  to  read  'The  Faith  Doctor.'" — Buffalo  Covtviercial. 

"  A  vivid  and  life-like  transcript  from  several  phases  of  society.  Devoid  of  literary 
aflFectation  and  pretense,  it  is  a  wholesome  American  novel,  well  worthy  of  the  popu- 
larity which  it  has  won." — Phiiadeiphia  Inguirer. 

N     UTTER    FAILURE.       By     Miriam     Coles 
Harris,  author  of  "  Rutledge."     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  story  with  an  elaborate  plot,  worked  out  with  great  cleverness  and  with  the 
skill  of  an  experienced  artist  in  fiction.  7  he  interest  is  strong  and  at  times  veiy  dra- 
matic. ...  1  hose  who  were  attracted  by  '  Rutledge'  will  give  hearty  welcome  to  this 
story,  and  find  it  fully  as  enjoyable  as  that  once  immensely  popular  rio\c\." ^Boston 
Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"The  pathos  of  this  tale  is  profound,  the  movement  highly  dramatic,  the  moral 
elevating." — Nezv  York  World. 

"In  this  new  story  the  author  has  done  some  of  the  best  work  that  she  has  ever 
given  to  the  public,  and  it  will  easily  class  among  the  most  meritorious  and  most 
original  novels  of  the  year." — Boston  Home  Joiirnal. 

"The  author  of  '  Rutledge'  does  not  often  send  out  a  new  volume,  but  when  she 
does  it  is  alw.iys  a  literary  event.  .  .  .  Her  previous  books  were  sketchy  and  slight 
when  compared  with  the  finished  and  trained  power  evidenced  in  'An  Utter  Failure.'  " 
— New  Haven  Palladittm. 


A 


A 


PURITAN  PAGAN.     By  Julien  Gordon,  au- 
thor of  "A  Diplomat's  Diary,"  etc.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $i.oo. 

"  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  Cruger  grows  stronger  as  she  writes.  .  .  .  The  lines  in  her 
story  are  boldly  and  vigorously  etched." — New  York  limes. 

"  The  author's  recent  books  have  made  for  her  a  secure  place  in  current  literature, 
where  she  can  stand  fast.  .  .  .  Her  latest  production,  '  A  Puritan  Pagan,' is  an  eminent- 
ly clever  story,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word  clever." — Philadelphia  '1  elegraph. 

"  Has  already  made  its  mark  as  a  popular  story,  and  will  have  an  abundance  of 
readers.  ...  It  contains  some  useful  lessons  that  will  repay  the  thoughtful  study  of 
persons  of  both  sexes." — Xeiv  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"This  brilliant  novel  will,  without  doubt,  add  to  the  repute  of  the  writer  who 
chooses  to  be  known  as  Julien  Gordon.  .  .  .  1  he  ethical  purpose  of  the  author  is  kept 
tully  in  evidence  through  a  series  of  intensely  interesting  situations." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  It  is  obvious  that  the  author  is  thoroughly  at  home  in  illustrating  the  manner  and 
the  sentiment  of  the  best  society  of  both  Ameiica  and  Europe." — Chicago  Times. 


New  York:  D.  ArPLETOX  &  CO,,  i,  3,  &  5  Eor.d  Street. 


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'HE  THREE  MISS  KINGS.  By  Ada  Cam- 
bridge, author  of  "My  Guardian."  i2mo.  Paper,  50  cents; 
cloth,  75  cents. 

"May  unreservedly  be  recommended  as  one  of  the  choice  stones  of  the  season, 
bright,  refined,  graceful,  thoutjhtiul,  and  iiueresting  from  the  first  to  the  final  page."  — 
Boston  Liter,%ry  World. 


A 


MATTER  OF  SKIII.  By  Beatrice  Whitby, 
author  of  "  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fenvvick  "  and  "  Part  of 
the  Property."     l2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  pretty  love-story,  told  in  a  gracefully  piquant  manner,  and  with  a  frank  fresh- 
ness of  style  that  makes  it  very  attractive  in  the  reading.  It  is  uncommonly  well 
written." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  1  he  story  is  charmingly  told,  and  is  very  readable." — Literary  U  orld. 


M 


AID    MARIAN,    AND     OTHER    STORIES. 

By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell,  author  of  "  Throckmorton  "  and 

"  Little  Jarvis."     i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ,  cloth,  $1  00. 

"  'I'here  is  an  unmistakable  cleverness  in  this  collection  of  short  stories." — Boston 
Literary  World. 

"  Miss  Seawell  has  a  brisk  and  prolific  fancy,  and  a  turn  for  the  odd  and  fantastic, 
while  she  is  Past  Master  in  the  use  of  negro  dialect  and  the  production  of  tales  of 
plantation  life  and  manners.  All  these  stories  are  spirited,  well  marked  by  local  color, 
and  written  with  skill  and  ingenuity." — Nezv  York  Tribune. 

"  Miss  Seawell  writes  capital  stories,  and  in  a  special  w  ay  nothing  of  late  has  been 
done  better  nor  more  daintily  than  '  Maid  Marian.'  " — N'ew  J  orA  '1  ivtes. 


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NE  WOMAN'S  WAY.  By  Edmund  Pendleton, 
author  of  "A  Conventional  Bohemian,"  "A  Virginia  Inherit- 
ance," etc.     i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  author  is  a  Virginian  who  has  written  some  interesting  stories,  and  who 
steadily  improves  upon  himself  .  .  .  This  is  a  thoughtful,  semi-philoscphical  story. 
There  is  much  discussion  in  it,  but  none  of  it  is  prosy." — New  York  Herald. 

"  In  this  genuinely  interesting  novel  the  author  depicts  one  of  the  most  charming 
characters  to  be  found  in  the  vast  range  of  woman's  realm.  .  .  .  The  close  is  artistically 
devised  and  shows  a  deep  observation.  Mr.  Pendleton  has  a  brilliant  future  before  him 
in  his  chosen  path" — 5^.  Louis  Republic. 


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MERCIFUL    DIVORCE.      By   F.  W.    Maude. 
i2mo.    Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  There  have  been  few  more  searching  studies  of  the  rampant  English  plutocracy 
than  is  afforded  by  this  brilliantly  written  volume  " — Boston  Beacon. 

"  The  book  is  curiously  interesting  from  the  startling  side-light  it  throws  on  English 
society  of  the  upper  grades." — Chicago  Times. 


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^TliPHEN  ELLICOTTS  DA  UGHTER.    By  Mrs. 

k— ^       J.    H.  Needeli.,   author  of  "The  Story  of  Philip   Methuen." 
i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  clolh,  $1.00. 

"I  am  desirous  lo  bear  my  humble  testimony  to  the  great  ability  and  high  aii!i  of 
the  work."— Hon.  \V.  E.  Gladstone. 

"  I  find  it  exceedingly  interesting,  and  like  its  high  tone." — Archde.acon  Farrar. 
"  From  first  to  last  an  exceptionally  strong  and  beautiful  story." — London  Spectator. 

NE  REASON  WHY.  By  Beatrice  Whitby,  au- 
thor of  "  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Feiiwick,"  "  Part  of  the 
Property,"  etc.     i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  remarkably  well-written  story.  .  .  .  The  author  makes  her  people  .speak  the 
languige  of  every-day  life,  and  a  vigorous  and  attractive  realism  pervade^  the  book, 
which  provides  excellent  entertainment  from  beginning  to  end." — Boston  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette. 

^HE    TRAGEDY    OF    IDA    NOBLE.      By  W. 

Clark  Russell,  author  of  "  The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor," 
"  The  Mystery  of  the  Ocean  Siar,"  etc.  i2mo.  Paper,  50 
cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mr.  Russell  is  one  of  the  most  successful  writers  of  sea-?tr.ties  of  the  present  day, 
and  whatever  bears  his  name  is  sure  to  possess  some  share  of  merit." — Montreal  Gazette. 

"The  best  sea-story  since  'The  Wreck  of  ihe  Grosvenor.'  It  shows  a  determina- 
don  to  abandon  the  well-worn  tracks  of  fiction  and  to  evolve  a  new  and  striking  plot 
....  There  is  no  sign  of  exhausted  imagination  in  this  strong  tale." — Philadelphia 
Public  Ledger. 

HE  JOHNSTOWN  STAGE,  AND  OTHER 
STORIES.  By  Robert  H.  Fletcher,  author  of  "A  Blind 
Bargain,"  "  Marjoiie  and  her  Papa,"  etc.  i2mo.  Paper,  50 
cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"Nine  real  stories,  not  studies  of  character,  but  narratives  of  incident,  .  .  .  viva- 
ciously and  pleas3ntly  told." — Boston  Piwt. 

"  A  group  of  brisk  sketches  admirably  written,  with  much  realistic  effect."— Minne- 
apolis Tribune. 

"  A  collection  of  as  charming  short  stories  as  one  could  wish  to  find,  .  .  .  most 
of  them  Western  in  scene." — San  Francisco  A  rgonaut. 


T 


T 


A 


WIDOWER  INDEED.    By  Rhoda  Broughton 
and  Elizabeth  Bisland.    i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"Done  with  masterly  skill.  The  who'e  work  is  strong  and  well  worth  reading." — 
New  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"Ihe  story  is  written  with  great  strength,  and  possesses  a  powerful  interest  that 
never  flags." — Boston  Home  yonrnal. 


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'HE  SOVEREIGNS  AND  COURTS  OF 
EUROPE.  The  Home  and  Court  Life  and  Characteristics  cf 
the  Reigning  Families.  By  "  PoLiTiKOS."  With  many  Por- 
traits.    i2mo.     CloLh,  $1.50. 

"  A  remarkably  abli  bjo!<.  ...  A  great  deal  of  tbe  inner  history  of  Europe  is  to  be 
found  in  the  wor^,  and  it  is  illustrated  by  admiiable  poitraits." — 1  he  Atheiiauvi. 

'■  Its  chief  merit  is  that  it  gives  a  new  view  of  several  sovereigns.  .  .  .  The  anony- 
mius  author  see  11s  to  ha/e  sojrces  of  information  that  are  not  open  to  the  ioieign 
c  irrespondents  who  generally  try  10  convey  the  impression  that  they  aie  on  teinis  of 
intimacy  with  royalty." — San  F}-aiicisco  Chivnicte. 

"  A  most  entertaining  volume,  which  is  evidently  the  work  of  a  singularly  well-ir- 
f  )rmed  writer.  The  vivid  descriptions  of  the  home  and  court  life  of  the  va:  lous  royalties 
convey  exactly  the  knowledge  of  character  and  the  means  of  a  peisonal  estimate  which 
will  be  valued  by  intelligent  readers." — Toronto  Mail. 

"The  anonymous  author  cf  these  sketches  of  the  reigning  sovereigns  of  Europe 
appears  to  have  leathered  a  good  deal  of  curious  information  about  their  ]  rivate  li\es, 
manners,  and  customs,  and  has  certainly  in  several  instances  bad  access  to  unusual 
soirees.  The  result  is  a  volume  which  furnishes  views  of  the  kings  and  queens  con- 
cerned, far  fuller  and  more  intimate  than  can  be  found  elsewhere." — New  York  'Iribinie. 

'•.  .  .  A  book  that  would  give  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth 
(so  far  as  such  comprehensive  accuracy  is  possible),  about  these  exalted  personages,  so 
often  heard  about  but  so  seldom  seen  by  ordinary  mortals,  was  a  desideratum,  and  this 
book  seems  well  fitted  to  satisfy  the  demand.  The  author  is  a  well-known  writer  on 
questions  indicated  by  his  pseudonym." — Monti enl  Gazette. 

"A  very  handy  book  of  reference.  ' — Boston  Transcrijit. 


M 


Y  CANADIAN  JOURNAL,  iSya-'-S.  By  Lady 
DUFFERIN,  author  of  "  Our  Vice-Regal  Life  in  India."  Extracts 
from  letters  hone  written  while  Lord  Dufferin  was  Governor- 
General  of  Canada.  With  Portrait,  Map,  and  Illustrations  from 
sketches  by  Lord  Dufferin.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $2.00. 

"  A  graphic  and  intenselv  interesting  portraiture  of  out-door  life  in  the  Dominion, 
and  will  become,  we  are  confide  it,  one  of  the  standard  works  on  the  Dominion.  .  .  . 
It  is  a  charming  volume." — B.Jston  Travelhr. 

"  In  every  place  nnd  under  every  condition  of  circum.stances  the  Marchioness  shows 
herself  to  be  a  true  lady,  wiihout  reference  to  her  title  Her  book  is  most  entei  fairing, 
and  the  abounding  good-hunor  of  every  page  must  stir  a  .sympathetic  spirit  in  its  lead- 
ers."— Philadelphia.  Bulb  tin. 

"A  very  pleasantly  written  record  of  social  functions  in  which  the  author  was  the 
leading  figure;  and  many  distinguished  persons,  Americans  as  well  as  Canadians,  pass 
across  the  gayly  decorated  stoge.  The  author  Is  a  careful  observer,  and  jots  down  her 
impressions  of  people  and  their  ways  with  a  frankness  that  is  at  once  entertaining  and 
amusing." — Book-Buyer. 

"The  manv  readers  of  Lady  Dufferin's  Journal  of  "  Our  Vice-Regal  Life  in  India" 
will  welcome  this  similar  record  from  the  same  vivacious  pen,  although  it  concerns  a 
perio  1  antecedent  to  the  other,  and  takes  one  back  many  years.  The  book  consists  of 
extricts  from  letters  written  home  by  Lady  Dufferin  to  her  friends  (her  mother  chiefly ), 
while  her  husband  was  Governor -'ieneral  of  Canada;  and  describes  her  experiences  in 
the  same  chatty  and  charming  style  with  which  readers  were  before  made  familiar." — 
Ci:icinnati  Comtnercial-  Gazette. 


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JOHN    BACH   MC  MASTER. 


TTISTOR  Y  OF  THE  PEOPLE 
J^  OF  THE  UNITED  ST  A  TES,  from 
the  Revolution  to  the  Civil  War.  By 
John  Bach  McMaster.  To  be  com- 
pleted in  five  volumes.  Vols.  I,  II, 
and  III  now  ready.  8vo,  cloth,  gilt 
top,  $2.50  each. 

In  the  course  of  this  narrative  much  is  written 
of  wars,  conspiracies,  and  rebellions ;  of  Presi- 
dents, of  Congresses,  of  embassies,  of  treaties, 
of  the  ambition  of  political  leaders,  and  of  the 
rise  of  g^reat  parties  in  the  nation.  Yet  the  his- 
tory of  the  people  is  the  chief  theme.  At  every 
stage  of  the  splendid  progress  which  separates  the 
America  of  Washington  and  Adams  from  the 
America  in  which  we  live,  it  has  been  the  au- 
thor's purpose  to  describe  the  dress,  the  occupa- 
tions, the  amusemjnts,  the  literary  canons  of  the  times  ;  to  note  the  changes 
of  manners  and  morals ;  to  trace  the  growth  of  that  humane  spirit  which 
abolished  punishment  for  debt,  and  reformed  the  discipline  of  prisons  and 
of  jails ;  to  recount  the  manifold  improvements  which,  in  a  thousand  ways, 
have  multiplied  the  conveniences  of  life  and  ministered  to  the  happiness  of 
our  race  ;  to  describe  the  rise  and  progress  of  that  long  series  of  mechanical 
inventions  and  discoveries  which  is  now  the  admiration  of  the  world,  and  our 
just  pride  and  boast  ;  to  tell  how,  under  the  bc;::gn  influence  of  liberty  and 
peace,  there  sprang  up,  in  the  course  of  a  single  century,  a  prosperity  unpar- 
alleled in  the  annals  of  human  affairs. 

"The  pledge  given  by  Mr.  McMaster,  that  'the  history  of  the  people  shall  be  the 
chief  theme,'  is  punctiliously  and  satisfactorily  fulfilled.  He  carries  out  his  promise  in 
a  comiilete,  vivid,  and  deli>;htful  way.  We  should  add  that  the  liierary  execution  of 
the  work  is  worthy  of  the  indefatigable  industry  and  unceasing  vigilance  with  which 
the  stores  of  historical  material  have  been  accumulated,  weighed,  and  sifted.  1  he 
cardinal  qualities  of  style,  lucidity,  animation,  and  energy,  are  even,'where  present. 
Seldom  indeed  has  a  book  in  which  matter  of  substantial  value  has  been  so  happily 
united  to  attractiveness  of  form  been  offered  by  an  American  author  to  his  fellow- 
citizens." — A^eiu  York  Sun. 

"  To  recount  the  marvelous  progress  of  the  American  people,  to  describe  their  life, 
their  literature,  their  occupations,  their  amusements,  is  Mr.  McMaster's  object.  His 
theme  is  an  important  one,  and  we  congratulate  him  on  his  success.  It  has  rarely  been 
oir  province  to  notice  a  book  with  so  many  excellences  and  so  few  defects." — New  i'o>k 
Herald. 

"  Mr.  McMaster  at  once  shows  his  grasp  of  the  various  themes  and  his  special 
capacity  as  a  histoiian  of  the  people.  His  aim  is  high,  but  he  hits  the  mark." — 
A'eiv  Y'ork  yournal  cf  Commerce. 

".  .  .  The  author's  pages  abound,  too,  with  illustrations  of  the  best  kind  of  histori- 
cal work,  that  of  unearthing  hidden  sources  of  information  and  employing  them,  not 
after  the  modem  style  of  h'storii.al  writing,  in  a  mere  report,  but  with  the  true  artistic 
method,  in  a  well-digested  narrative.  ...  If  Mr.  McMaster  finishes  his  work  in  the 
spirit  and  with  the  thoroughness  and  skill  with  which  it  has  begun,  it  will  take  its  place 
among  the  classics  of  American  literature." — Christian  Union. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,   i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


L 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
YOUNG   HEROES   OF   OUR   NAVY. 

JUST  PUBLISHED. 

1\  MIDSHIPMAN  PA  UIDING.    A  true  story  of  the 

IwA   War  of  1812.     By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell,  author  of  "  Little 

Jarvis."     With  Six  full-page  Illustrations  by  J.  O.   Davidson 

and  George  Wharton  Edwards,     bvo.    Bound  in  blue  cloth, 

with  special  design  in  gold  and  colors.     $i.co. 

"The  book  gives  an  excellent  descriplion  of  the  battle  of  Lake  Champlaiii.  told  in 
such  interesting  style,  and  sa  well  blended  with  personal  adventuie,  ihat  every  boy  will 
delight  to  read  it,  and  will  unavoidably  remember  its  mam  ieatures." — Spni.gjieid 
Union. 

"The  story  is  told  in  a  breezy,  pleasant  style  that  can  not  fail  to  capture  the  fancy 
of  youn?  readers,  and  imparts  much  historical  knowledge  at  the  same  lime,  while  the 
illustratinns  will  help  the  understanding  of  the  events  described.  It  is  an  excellent 
book  for  boys,  and  even  the  girls  will  be  interested  m  it." — Brooklyn  Stanaard-Utiiun. 

NEW  EDITION. 

ITTLE  JARVIS.  The  story  of  the  heroic  mid- 
shipman of  the  frigate  "  Constellation."  By  Molly  Elliot 
Seawell.  With  Six  full-page  Illustrations  by  J.  O.  David- 
son and  George  Wharton  Edwards.  8vo.  Bound  uni- 
formly with  "  Midshipman  Paulding."     $1.00. 

"Founded  on  a  true  incident  in  our  naval  history.  .  .  .  So  well  pictureo  as  to 
bring  both  smiles  and  tears  upon  the  faces  that  are  bent  over  the  volume.  It  is  in  ex- 
actly the  spirit  for  a  boy's  book." — New  York  Home  Jourr.al. 

"  T.ittle  Jarvis  was  a  manly,  jolly  little  midshipman  on  board  the  good  ship  '  Con- 
stellation,' in  the  year  1800:  so  full  of  pranks  that  he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the 
cross-trees  and  lived  prepared  for  this  inevitable  fate,  with  a  book  in  one  pocket  and  a 
piece  of  hard-tack  in  the  other.  .  .  .  His  boyish  ambition  was  to  smell  powder  in  a  t^a\ 
battle,  to  meet  and  conquer  a  live  French  man-of-war.  It  would  be  unfair  to  the  reader 
to  tell  how  Little  Jarvis  conducted  himself  when  at  length  the  '  Constellation  '  grappled 
with  the  frigate  'Vengeance'  in  deadly  combat." — Providence  Journal. 

"  The  author  makes  the  tale  strongly  and  simply  pathetic,  and  has  given  the  world 
what  will  make  it  better." — Hartford  Courant. 

"Not  since  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale's  classic,  'The  Man  without  a  Ccnntry,' 
has  there  been  published  a  more  stirring  lesson  in  patriotism." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  It  is  what  a  boy  would  call  '  a  real  boy's  book.'  "—Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"This  is  the  story  which  received  the  prize  of  five  hundred  dollars  offered  by 
the  Youth's  Companion.  It  was  worthy  the  distinction  accorded  it." — Philadelphia 
Telegraph. 

"  It  is  well  to  multiply  such  books,  that  we  may  awaken  in  the  youth  that  read 
them  the  spirit  of  devotion  to  duty  of  which  Little  Jarvis  is  a  type.  We  shall  some 
day  have  need  of  it  all." — .4r)ny  and  Navy  Journal. 

"  Any  one  in  search  of  a  thoroughly  good  bonk  for  boys  need  look  no  further,  for 
this  ranks  among  the  very  best." — Milwaukee  Sentinel. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


F 


D.  APPLETON  ^   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


ROM  FLAG  TO  FLAG.      A  Woman  s  Adventures 

and  Experiences  in  the  South  during  the  War,  in  Afexico,  and 
in  Cuba.    By  Eliza  McHatton-Ripley.    i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 

The  author  of  this  book  was  the  wife  of  a  planter  in  Louisiana,  and  underwent  some 
remarkable  experiences  in  the  first  part  of  the  war;  later  in  Mexico,  many  vicissitudes 
befell  her ;  and  of  her  life  in  Cuba,  still  later,  she  has  a  striking  and  unusual  story  to  tell. 

"  In  a  word,  the  book  is  an  account  of  personal  adventures  which  would  be  called 
extraordinary  did  not  one  remember  that  the  civil  war  must  have  brought  similar  ones 
to  many.  Her  hardships  are  endured  with  the  rarest  pluck  and  good  humor,  and 
her  shifty  way  of  meeting  iliflSculties  seems  almost  to  point  to  a  Yankee  strain  in  her 
blood." — The  Nation. 

y^HE   HISTOR  Y  OF  A    SLA  VE.     By  H.  H.  John- 
-*        STON,  author  of  "  The  Kilimanjaro  Expedition,  etc.     With  47 
full-page    Illustrations,  engraved    fac-simile    from    the   author's 
Drawings.     Large  i2mo.     Paper  cover,  50  cents. 

"  '  The  History  of  a  Slave '  is  a  work  of  fiction  based  upon  every-day  occurrences 
in  the  Dark  Continent,  and  well  calculated  to  bring  home  to  the  reader  the  social 
condition  of  heathen  and  Mohammedan  Africa,  and  the  horrors  of  a  domestic  slave- 
trade." — The  Athenceitni. 

'JTHE    MEMOIRS   OF  AN   ARABIAN   PRIN- 
J-        CESS.     By  Emily  Ruete,  ne'e  Princess  of  Oman  and  Zanzibar. 
Translated  from  the  German.     i2mo.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

The  author  of  this  amusing  autobiography  is  half-sister  to  the  late  Sultan  of  Zanzi- 
bar, who  some  years  ago  married  a  German  merchant  and  settled  at  Hamburg. 

"A  remarkably  interesting  little  volume.  .  .  .  As  a  picture  of  Oriental  court  life, 
and  manners  and  customs  in  the  Orient,  by  one  who  is  to  the  manor  born,  the  book  is 
prolific  in  entertainment  and  edification." — Boston  Gazette. 


s 


KETCHES  FROM  MY  LIFE.  By  the  late  Admiral 
HoBART  Pasha.  With  a  Portrait.  i2mo.  Paper,  50  cents  ; 
cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  sailor  is  nearly  always  an  adventurous  and  enterprising  varietj'  of  the  human 
species,  and  Hobart  Pasha  was  about  as  fine  an  example  as  one  could  vnsh  to  see.  .  . 
The  sketches  of  South  American  life  are  full  of  interest.  The  sport,  the  inevitable 
entanglements  of  susceptible  middies  with  beautiful  Spanish  girls  and  the  sometimes 
disastrous  consequences,  the  dueL,  attempts  at  assassination,  and  other  adventures  and 
amusements,  are  described  virith  much  spirit.  .  .  .  The  sketches  abound  m  interesting 
details  of  the  American  war." — London  Athentpiim. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i.  3,  &  .=i  ^ond   Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


A   NEW   HUMOROUS   TRAVEL-BOOK. 

IFO  GIRLS  ON  A  BARGE. 

By  V.  Cecil  Cotes.  Illustrated  by 
F.  H.  TOWNSEND.  i2mo.  Cloth 
$i.oo. 
A  bright,  vivacicus  sketch  of  cdd  people 
and  curious  experiences,  illustrated  by  tie 
artist  who  illustrated  "A  Social  Departure" 
and  "  An  American  Girl  in  London,"  both  of 
which  will  be  recalled  by  the  good  spirits  of  this  equally  unconventional 
record  of  a  journey  down  the  Thames. 

"  For  something  entirely  original,  piquant,  and  wortliy  of  rapt  attention,  we  com- 
mend this  little  volume."— AVzy  York  Journal  q/  Commerce. 

"Describes  with  great  vivacity  a  vacation  trip  on  an  English  canal;  and  the  ex- 
periences of  the  two  young  ladies  and  a  young  gentleman  are  set  forth  with  a  thorough 
appreciation  of  the  novel  situations  in  which  the  piirty  often  fuund  itself.  The  forty- 
four  illustrations  are  fully  in  harmony  with  the  light  and  entertaining  character  of  the 
text." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


AN   ENGLISH    WOMAN'S    RECORD    OF    HER   LIFE 
IN    AFRICA. 


H 


OME  LIFE    ON  AN   OSTRICH  FARM.     By 
Annie  Martin.     Illustrated.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"Not  in  many  days  has  a  more  interesting  volurne  descriptive  of  life  in  a  remote 
land  been  offered  to  the  public.  It  is  so  brightly  written,  so  cheery,  so  pervaded  fy 
the  South  African  sunli.^ht,  as  it  wefe,  that  the  reader  regrets  the  rapidity  with  which 
he  finds  himself  making  his  way  through  its  chaiming  pages." — Keiu  York  limes. 

"One  of  the  most  charmin?  descriptions  of  Afiican  experience  that  have  come 
under  our  notice.  .  .  .  The  work  do3S  not  contain  a  dull  page.  It  is  a  sparkling  little 
book,  of  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  speak  loo  highly." — Londoti  Athemenvi. 

"With  fl  lent  simplicity  and  feminine  animation  the  author  chats  delightfully  of  ihe 
q'liint  daily  happenings  on  her  husband's  farm  of  twelve  thoufand  acres  in  the  Krrroo 
di;tiict  of  Cape  Colony.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  peruse  every  page  wiih  keen  enjoy- 
ment, and  will  feel  grateful  admiration  for  the  clever,  pii:cky,  womanly  woman  who 
calls  herself 'Annie  Martin.'  " — New  York  Sun. 

"  The  author  s  style  is  gossipv,  ard  she  has  a  serse 
of  humor  that  aids  greatly  in  making;  her  book  readable. 
She  seems  to  write  without  an  effort.  r»s  if  she  enjoyed 
it;  and  before  we  nave  gone  thro  iTh  the  first  chapter  we 
become  warm  friends,  so  that  when  the  final  chapter 
arrives  we  part  with  the  authoress  with  sincere  regret." 
— PhiLxdelphia  Itsm. 

"  A  perfect  book  of  its  kind.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Martin  joins 
keen  observing  powers  to  n  great  love  of  nature,  both 
animate  and  inanimate,  and  a  rare  descriptive  faculty'. 
Her  p'ctures  of  the  farm  life,  but,  above  all.  of  her  dumb 
companions,  are  admirable.  .  .  .  The  illustrations  are 
exceUent  " — New  York  Event  g  Post.  OSTRICH  CHICK 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  .^c  CO  ,  i,  3,  &  5  Pond  Street. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
536 


